OTHER  BOOKS 

BY 

CHARLES  CLARK  MUNN 


UNCLE  TERRY.  A  Story  of  the  Maine  Coast. 
Richly  bound  in  crimson  silk  cloth  with  gold 
and  vignette  of  heroine.  Illustrated  by  HELENA 
HIGGINBOTHAM.  Gilt  top.  370pp.  Price,  $1.50. 

See  description  in  back  of  book. 


ROCKHAVEN.  The  Story  of  a  Scheme.  (In 
preparation.  To  be  published  in  the  Spring  of 
1902.) 

See  announcement  in  back  of  book. 


Pocket  Island 

A  Story  of  Country  Life  in  New 
England 


By 
CHARLES   CLARK   MUNN 

Author  of  "Uncle  Terry"   and 


New  York 

International  Association  of  Newspapers 

and  Authors 

1901 


COPYRIGHT,  1901,  BY  CHARLES  CLARK  MUNN 


All  Rights  Reserved 


POCKET    ISLAND 


XORTH  RIVER  BINDERY 
HUNTERS  AND  BINDER! 
KBW  YORK  CITY,  K.  Y. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I.  PA08 

Pocket  Island 1 1 

CHAPTER  II. 
The  Sea  Fox 18 

CHAPTER  III. 
Nemesis 24 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Boy 31 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Boy's  First  Party 41 

CHAPTER  VI. 
Serious  Thoughts 49 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Liddy 58 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
The  Husking-Bee 66 

CHAPTER   IX. 
Good  Advice 74 


vi  Contents. 

CHAPTER  X.  PACE 

82. 

History 

CHAPTER  XI. 

War  Clouds 

CHAPTER  XII. 

1 OO1 

A  Day  in  the  Woods 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  Girl  1  Left  Behind  Me  .'. 1O7 

CHAPTER   XIV. 

Beside  the  Camp  Fire n  7 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Mysteries J  '' 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
The  Grasp  of  Death !32 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
Those  Who  Wait '37 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
A  Few  Bright  Days '4^ 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
Among  the  Wounded '  56 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Plans  for  Happiness I(>4 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Blue  Hill..  '74 


Contents.  vu 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
The  Maine  Coast 182 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
Big  Spoon  Island 191 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Pocket  Island 1 99 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Smuggler's  Cave 208 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
The  Fate  of  a  Miser 216 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
Conclusion 224 


POCKET  ISLAND. 


CHAPTER   I. 

POCKET  ISLAND. 

IN  the  year  185 —  a  Polish  Jew  peddler  named 
Wolf  and  a  roving  Micmac  Indian  met  at  a  small 
village  on  Annapolis  Bay,  in  Nova  Scotia,  and 
there  and  then  formed  a  partnership. 

It  was  one  of  those  chance  meetings  between 
two  atoms  tossed  hither  and  thither  in  the  whirl 
igig  of  life;  for  the  peddler,  shrewd,  calculating 
and  unscrupulous,  was  wandering  along  the  Aca 
dian  shores  driving  hard  bargains  in  small  wares ; 
and  the  Indian,  like  his  race,  fond  of  a  roaming 
life,  was  drifting  about  the  bay  in  a  small  sloop 
he  owned,  fishing  where  he  would,  hunting  when 
he  chose,  stopping  a  week  in  some  uninhabited  cove 
to  set  traps,  or  lounging  in  a  village  drinking  or 
gambling. 

The  Jew  had  a  little  money  and,  what  was  of 
tl 


Pocket  Island. 

more  value,  brains  and  audacity.  He  also  knew 
the  conditions  then  prevalent  along  the  Maine 
coast,  and  all  the  risks,  as  well  as  the  profit,  to 
be  obtained  in  smuggling  liquor.  Rum  was  cheap 
in  Nova  Scotia  and  dear  in  Maine.  The  Indian 
with  his  sloop  formed  one  means  to  an  end;  his 
money  and  cunning  the  other.  A  verbal  compact 
to  join  these  two  forces  on  the  basis  of  share  and 
share  alike  for  mutual  profit,  was  entered  into, 
and  Captain  Wolf  and  the  Sea  Fox,  as  the  sloop 
was  named,  with  the  Indian  and  his  dog  for  crew, 
began  their  career. 

As  a  preliminary  some  fifty  kegs  of  assorted 
liquors,  as  many  empty  mackerel  kits,  a  small 
stock  of  oil  clothing,  sea  boots,  fishing  gear,  to 
baccos,  etc.,  were  purchased  and  stowed  away 
on  the  sloop,  and  then  she  set  sail. 

There  were  along  the  coast  of  Maine  in  those 
days  many  uninhabited  islands  seldom  visited. 
Fishermen  avoided  them,  for  the  deep  sea  fur 
nished  safer  and  more  profitable  ground;  coast 
ers  gave  them  a  wide  berth,  and  there  were  no 
others  to  disturb  them.  Among  these,  and  lying 
midway  between  Monhegan  and  Big  Spoon  Isl 
ands,  and  distant  from  the  Isle  au  Haut,  the  near 
est  inhabited  one,  about  twenty  miles,  was  a  freak 
of  nature  known  as  "The  Pocket,"  or  Pocket  Is- 
\2 


Pocket  Island. 

land,  as  shown  on  the  maps.  This  merits  a  brief 
description.  It  was  hollow.  That  is,  from  a  gen 
eral  view  it  appeared  like  an  attempt  to  inclose 
a  small  portion  of  the  sea  within  high,  fir-covered 
walls.  It  resembled  a  horseshoe  with  the  points 
drawn  close.  Neptune  beat  Jove,  however,  leav 
ing  a  narrow  fissure  connecting  the  inclosed  wa 
ter  and  the  outer  ocean,  and  through  this  the 
tides  flowed  fiercely;  but  so  protected  was  the 
inner  harbor  that  never  a  ripple  disturbed  its  sur 
face.  It  was  this  harbor  that  gave  the  island  its 
name. 

Occasionally  a  shipwreck  occurred  here.  In 
1842  the  British  barque  Lancaster  was  driven 
on  to  this  island  in  a  winter  night  snowstorm, 
and  all  hands  perished.  Five  of  the  crew  were 
washed  ashore  alive,  only  to  freeze  among  the 
snow-covered  rocks.  The  vessel  went  entirely 
to  pieces  in  one  night  and  the  wreck  was  not 
discovered  until  two  years  after  by  a  stray  fisher 
man,  who  suddenly  came  upon  the  bleaching 
bones  and  grinning  skulls  of  those  unfortunate 
sailors.  The  island  was  a  menace  to  coasters  and 
bore  an  uncanny  reputation.  It  was  said  to  be 
haunted.  During  a  night  storm  a  tall  man  had 
been  seen,  by  a  flash  of  lightning,  standing  on  a 
cliff.  Strange  sounds  like  the  cries  of  dying  men 


Pocket  Island. 

had  been  heard.  When  the  waves  were  high,  a 
noise  like  that  made  by  a  bellowing  bull  was  no 
ticed.  The  ocean  and  its  storms  play  queer 
pranks  at  times,  especially  at  night.  White  bursts 
of  foam  leaping  over  black  rocks  assume  ghostly 
shape.  Dark  and  grotesque  figures  appear  crawl 
ing  into  or  out  of  fissures,  or  hiding  behind  rocks. 
Hideous  and  devilish,  snarling  and  snapping, 
sounds  issue  from  caverns.  In  darkness  an  unin 
habited  coast  becomes  peopled  with  demons  who 
sport  and  scream  and  leap  in  hellish  glee. 

Such  a  spot  was  Pocket  Island. 

Nature  also  played  another  prank  here,  and 
as  if  to  furnish  a  lair  for  some  sea  monster  she 
hollowed  a  cavern  in  the  island,  with  an  entrance 
below  tidewater  and  at  the  head  of  this  harbor. 
Inside  and  above  tide-level  it  broadened  into  5 
small  room.  As  if  to  still  further  isolate  the  is 
land  all  about  it  were  countless  rocks  and  ledges 
bare  only  at  low  tide  and,  like  a  serried  cordon  of 
black  fangs,  ready  to  bite  and  destroy  any  vessel 
that  approached.  It  is  probable  that  the  Indians 
who  formerly  inhabited  the  Maine  coast  had  ex 
plored  this  island  and  discovered  the  cave.  An 
Indian  is  always  looking  for  such  things.  It  is 
his  nature.  It  may  be  this  wandering  and  half- 
civilized  remnant  of  a  nearly  extinct  tribe  whom 

M 


Pocket  Island. 

the  Jew  had  compacted  with,  knew  of  this  sea 
cavern  and  piloted  his  sloop  into  the  safe  shelter 
of  "the  pocket."  And  it  was  a  secure  shelter. 
No  one  came  here ;  no  one  was  likely  to.  Its  un 
canny  reputation,  added  to  the  almost  impassable 
barricade  of  rocks  and  ledges  all  about,  made  it 
what  Captain  Wolf  needed — a  veritable  burrow 
for  a  sea  fox.  Here  he  brought  his  cargo  of  con 
traband  spirits  and  stored  them  in  the  cave.  Here 
he  repacked  kegs  of  rum  inside  of  empty  mackerel 
kits,  storing  tbem  aboard  the  sloop  with  genuine 
ones.  By  is  ruse  he  almost  obliterated  the 
chance  of  detection.  Like  a  sly  fox,  he  was  al 
ways  on  guard.  Even  when  the  sloop  was  safe 
at  anchor,  he  worked  only  in  the  cave.  When  all 
was  ready,  he  and  his  swarthy  partner  would  wait 
till  low  tide,  then  load  the  dozen  or  more  rum- 
charged  kits  and  set  sail  for  the  coast.  In  these 
ventures  Wolf  realized  what  his  race  have  always' 
wanted — the  Jew's  one  per  cent. 

In  this  island  cave  nature  had  placed  a  curios 
ity,  known  as  a  rocking  stone.  In  was  a  boulder 
of  mapy  tons'  weight  near  the  wall  of  the  room, 
and  so  poised  that  a  push  of  the  hand  at  one  par 
ticular  point  would  move  it  easily.  When  so 
moved  a  little  niche  in  the  rock- wall  back  of  it 
was  exposed.  Wolf  had  discovered  this  one  day 

J5 


Pocket  Island. 

while  alone  in  the  cave  and  utilized  it  as  a  hiding 
place  for  his  money. 

Here  he  would  come  alone  and,  taking  out  the 
increasing  bags  of  coin,  empty  them  on  a  flat 
stone  and,  by  the  light  of  a  lamp,  count  their 
contents  again  and  again.  Those  shining  coins 
were  his  god  and  all  his  religion;  and  in  this 
damp  and  dark  sea  cavern  and  by  the  dim  light 
of  a  lamp  he  came  to  worship. 

The  Indian  could  neither  read  nor  write,  add 
nor  subtract,  and  while  he  knew  the  value  of 
coins,  he  was  unable  to  compute  them.  Wolf 
knew  this  and,  unprincipled  as  he  was,  he  not 
only  defied  all  law  in  smuggling,  but  he  had 
from  the  first  defied  all  justice,  and  cheated  his 
partner  in  the  division  of  profit.  As  the  Indian 
Avas  never  present  when  either  buying  or  selling 
took  place,  and  had  no  knowledge  of  arithmetic, 
this  was  an  easy  matter.  Wolf  gave  him  a  little 
money,  of  course.  He  needed  him  and  his  ves 
sel  ;  also  his  help  in  sailing  her.  Not  only  was  the 
Indian  a  faithful  helper,  but  he  held  his  tongue 
as  well,  which  was  very  important.  When  in 
some  Nova  Scotia  port  the  money  Wolf  gave  him 
as  his  share  was  usually  spent  in  drinking  and 
gambling,  which  suited  Wolf,  who  only  desired 
to  use  him  as  a  medium. 

16 


Pockci  Island. 

An  Indian  has  no  sense  of  economy,  no  thought 
of  the  morrow.  To  hunt,  fish  and  eat  to-day  and 
let  the  future  provide  for  itself  is  enough.  If 
he  works  one  day,  it  is  that  he  may  spend  the 
next.  Among  the  aborigines  thrift  was  an  un 
known  quantity,  and  the  scattered  remnants  of 
those  tribes  existing  to-day  are  the  same.  As 
they  were  hundreds  of  years  ago,  so  are  they 
now.  They  were  satisfied  with  bark  wigwams 
then ;  a  board  and  a  mud  hovel  is  enough  to-day. 
They  cannot  comprehend  a  white  man's  ambition 
to  work  that  he  may  dress  and  live  well,  and  all 
money  and  all  thought  spent  in  civilizing  the  In 
dian  has  only  resulted  in  degrading  him.  He  ab 
sorbs  all  the  white  man's  vices  and  none  of  his 
virtues.  Not  only  that,  but  the  effort  to  redeem 
him  has  warped  and  twisted  him  into  a  cunning 
and  revengeful  creature ;  all  malice  and  no  honor. 
So  true  is  this  that  the  fact  has  crystalized  itself 
into  the  universal  belief  that  the  only  good  Indian 
is  a  dead  one. 

Such  a  one,  though  not  comprehended  by  Wolf, 
was  his  partner.  While  that  fox-like  Jew  was 
reaping  rich  profit  and  deluding  himself  in  be 
lieving  he  was  successfully  cheating  an  Indian, 
he  was  only  sowing  the  seed  that  soon  or  late  was 
destined  to  end  in  murder. 

J7 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE   SEA   FOX. 

WHILE  Neal  Dow  and  his  associates  were  con 
ducting  an  organized  crusade  against  the  sale  of 
liquor  in  Maine,  and  that  fruitless  legislation 
known  as  the  Maine  Law  was  being  enforced, 
there  entered  a  small  coast  port  in  that  State  one 
day  a  sloop  called  the  Sea  Fox,  manned  by  a 
white  man,  an  Indian  and  a  dog. 

The  white  man  had  sinister  black  eyes ;  the  In 
dian  was  tall  and  swarthy.  He  and  the  dog 
remained  on  board  the  sloop;  the  Jew,  or,  as  he 
called  himself,  Captain  Wolf,  came  ashore.  He 
declared  himself  to  be  a  small  coast  trader  in 
search  of  choice  lots  of  fish,  and  incidentally  hav 
ing  for  sale  clothing,  tobacco  and  various  small 
wares.  He  lounged  about  the  wharves  and  build 
ings  devoted  to  curing  fish,  talking  fish  and  fish 
ing  to  all.  He  seemed  to  be  in  search  of  informa 
tion,  and  appeared  ready  and  willing  to  buy  small 
and  choice  lots  of  cured  fish  at  a  low  price;  also 


I 

The  Sea  Fox. 

to  sell  the  assortment  of  wanes  he  carried.  He  in 
vited  prospective  buyers  to  visit  his  sloop,  and 
exerted  himself  to  interest  them.  While  he 
seemed  anxious  to  sell,  he  made  no  sales;  and 
though  willing  to  buy  he  bought  nothing.  He 
was  in  no  hurry.  He  just  ran  in  to  look  the 
market  over  and  see  if  there  was  a  chance  to  buy 
at  a  price  that  would  enable  him  to  make  a  fair 
profit.  If  not,  he  might  come  again,  or  may  be 
he  could  do  better  elsewhere.  His  mission  ap 
peared  innocent  and  natural  enough  and  he  and 
his  small  craft  were  duly  accepted  for  what  they 
appeared  to  be. 

Had  any  one,  however,  examined  the  dozen  or 
so  kits  of  mackerel  which  appeared  as  part  of 
his  cargo,  they  would  have  found,  not  fish,  but  a 
species  of  bait  ofttimes  used  by  fishermen ;  and 
could  they  have  read  between  the  lines  of  Captain 
Wolf's  innocent  inquiries  they  would  have  learned 
that  fishing  information  was  the  thing  he  cared 
least  about.  Though  Wolf  talked  trade,  but  did 
no  trading ;  was  anxious  to  buy,  and  bought  not ; 
willing  to  sell  and  sold  not;  it  need  not  be  in 
ferred  he  transacted  no  business.  Had  any  of 
these  coast  residents  been  blessed  with  the  occult 
ability  to  see  beyond  the  apparent  facts,  and  to 
overhear,  they  might  have  learned  of  certain  hard,, 

19 


Pocket  Island. 

if  illegal,  bargains  made  between  Wolf  and  one 
or  more  of  their  number,  and  they  might  have 
witnessed  late  at  night  various  mysterious  move 
ments  of  a  small  boat  passing  from  shore  to  the 
sloop  empty,  and  returning  laden  with  apparently 
harmless  kits  of  fish.  Had  these  good  people 
been  still  more  watchful  they  would  have  seen 
the  Sea  Fox  spread  her  sails  and  depart  before 
dawn.  Whence  Wolf  came  no  one  knew ;  whither 
he  went,  no  one  guessed.  Like  a  strange  bird  of 
prey,  like  a  fox  at  night,  he  stole  into  port  on  oc 
casions  wide  apart  and  unexpected,  and  as  mys 
teriously  went  his  way. 

The  coast  of  Maine  was  particularly  well 
adapted  to  aid  Captain  Wolf  in  his  pe 
culiar  enterprise.  The  great  tide  of  sum 
mer  travel  had  not  then  started  and  its  countless 
bays,  coves  and  inlets  were  unmolested.  Wher 
ever  a  safe  harbor  occurred  a  small  village  had 
clustered  about  it  and  the  larger  islands  only  were 
inhabited.  The  residents  of  these  hamlets  were 
mainly  engaged  in  fishing  or  coasting,  and  of  a 
guileless  nature.  They  were  honest  themselves, 
and  not  easy  to  suspect  dishonesty  in  others. 
Into  these  ports  Wolf  could  sail  unsuspected,  and, 
like  the  cunning  fox  he  was,  easily  dupe  them 
by  his  role  of  innocent  trader  till  he  found  some 
20 


The  Sea  Fox. 

one  as  unscrupulous  as  he,  who  was  willing  to- 
take  the  chance  and  share  his  illegal  profit. 

While  he  played  his  role  of  fox  by  day  and 
smuggled  by  night,  it  was  not  without  risk.  The 
crusaders  against  the  liquor  traffic  had  an  organ 
ized  force  of  spies  and  reformers.  In  every 
town  there  was  one  or  more,  and  as  the  reform 
ers  received  half  of  all  fines  or  value  of  liquor 
seized  it  may  be  seen  that  the  Sea  Fox  had  ene 
mies.  No  one  knew  it  any  better  than  Wolf,  and, 
like  the  human  fox  he  was,  no  one  was  any  more 
capable  of  guarding  against  them.  Well  skilled 
in  the  most  adroit  kind  of  deception,  in  compari 
son  to  his  enemies  he  was  as  the  fox  is  to  the 
rabbit,  the  hawk  to  the  chicken.  Frequently  he 
would  set  traps  for  his  pursuers,  and,  giving 
them  apparent  reason  for  suspicion,  would  thus 
invite  a  search.  On  these  occasions,  it  is  need 
less  to  say,  no  liquor  was  found  on  board  the 
Sea  Fox.  To  discover  his  enemies  by  the  method 
of  inviting  pursuit  and  then  doubling  on  his  track 
as  Reynard  does  was  child's  play  to  him.  In  each 
town  he  had  an  accomplice  who  dare  not,  if  he 
would,  betray  him. 

Captain  Wolf  was  also  a  miser.  He  loved 
gold  as  none  but  misers  do.  To  him  it  was  wife, 
child  and  heaven  all  in  one,  and  its  chink  as  he 

21 


Pocket  Island. 

counted  it  was  the  sweetest  of  music.  For  four 
years  he  played  his  role  and  continually  reaped 
rich  reward,  and  then  he  resolved  to  quit.  But, 
true  to  his  nature,  before  doing  so  he  decided  to 
play  the  hyena.  He  had  for  all  these  years  cheat 
ed  the  law;  now  he  planned  to  cheat  those  who 
aided  him.  To  this  end  he  set  a  trap.  When  a 
fox  sets  a  trap  he  sets  it  well.  Wolf  began  by 
circulating  an  alluring  story  of  a  chance  to  share 
in  the  distribution  of  a  large  cargo  of  contraband 
spirits,  provided  those  who  could  so  share  would 
"buy  a  pro  rata  large  amount  at  reduced  price. 
Having  thus  set  and  baited  his  trap,  he  proceeded 
to  spring  it.  He  had,  in  his  wanderings,  obtained 
a  formula  for  the  manufacture  of  spurious  brandy. 
All  that  was  required  was  a  few  cheap  chemicals 
and  water.  He  purchased  the  former ;  on  Pocket 
Island  there  was  a  spring  that  furnished  the  lat 
ter.  Feeling  sure  that  those  whom  he  had  duped 
would  not  dare  to  expose  him,  he  yet  acted  cau 
tiously  and  began  his  cheating  at  widely  sepa 
rated  points.  He  had  usually  disposed  of  small 
lots  at  a  time.  He  doubled  and  sometimes  tre 
bled  these,  and  the  hoard  of  silver  and  gold  be 
hind  the  rocking  stone  grew  rapidly.  Trip  after 
trip  he  made  to  the  various  ports  he  had  been  ac 
customed  to  visit,  never  calling  at  the  same  one 
22 


The  Sea  Fox. 

twice,  and  at  each  springing  his  well-set  trap, 
pocketing  his  almost  stolen  money  and  disappear 
ing,  leaving  behind  him  curses  and  threats  of 
revenge.  When  all  whom  he  could  thus  dupe 
were  robbed  by  this  wily  Jew  and  he  had  secured 
all  the  profit  they,  as  his  accomplices,  had  made, 
Captain  Wolf  and  the  Sea  Fox  sailed  away  to 
his  unknown  lair  at  Pocket  Island,  and  were 
never  heard  of  afterward. 


23 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  III. 

NEMESIS. 

WHILE  Captain  Wolf  was  carrying  out  his 
scheme  to  rob  his  accomplices  in  smuggling,  he 
was  planning  a  still  more  despicable  act,  and  that 
was  to  take  his  hoard  of  money,  stow  all  valu 
ables  on  the  sloop,  sail  to  a  Nova  Scotia  port, 
and  when  near  it,  to  kill  the  Indian,  sell  the  Sea 
Fox  and  cross  the  ocean. 

There  were  several  weighty  reasons  for  this. 
In  the  first  place,  those  bags  of  coin  behind  the 
rocking  stone  weighed  on  his  mind.  He  was  a 
miser,  and  never  before  had  he  so  much  wealth 
he  could  call  his  own.  A  few  hundred  dollars  at 
the  most  were  all  he  had  ever  possessed.  Now 
he  had  thousands.  Money  was  his  god,  and  to 
escape  from  danger  and  carry  it  with  him  seemed 
prudent.  He  was  aware  he  was  suspected  of  be 
ing,  and  in  fact  was  known  to  be,  a  smuggler. 
While  as  yet  undiscovered  in  his  island  lair,  he 
might  at  any  time  be  pounced  upon.  His  act  of 

24 


Nemesis. 

swindling  his  accomplices,  he  knew  well,  would 
create  revengeful  enemies,  who  would  spare 
neither  time  nor  money  to  hunt  him  down. 

Then  there  was  the  Indian  whom  he  had  also 
robbed  from  the  start.  He  might  become  suspi 
cious  and  betray  him,  or  worse  yet,  discover  the 
secret  of  the  rocking  stone.  Wolf  had  discovered 
it  by  accident ;  why  might  not  the  Indian  ?  With 
murder  in  his  heart,  Wolf  for  the  first  time  began 
to  be  afraid.  He  put  the  pistols  he  had  always 
carried  in  perfect  order  and  ready  for  instant  use. 
So  far  as  he  had  discovered,  the  Indian  possessed 
neither  knife  nor  pistol;  but  nevertheless  Wolf 
feared  him,  and  the  more  he  realized  the  danger 
he  had  incurred  in  duping  his  assistants  in  smug 
gling,  and  how  much  he  was  really  in  the  power 
of  his  giant-framed  partner,  the  more  his  fears 
grew.  It  may  be  thought  it  was  conscience  work 
ing  in  him;  but  it  was  not,  for  such  as  he  have 
none.  It  was  guilty  fear,  and  that  only.  This 
so  preyed  upon  his  mind  during  his  last  trip  to 
the  coast  that  he  could  hardly  sleep.  Then  he 
began  to  imagine  that  the  Indian  was  suspicious 
of  him.  To  allay  that  danger  he  doubled  the  small 
share  of  profit  he  had  given  his  partner,  knowing 
full  well  if  he  had  no  chance  to  spend  it,  it  would 
all  come  back  to  him  in  the  end.  Then  he  set  about 

25 


Pocket  Island. 

deceiving  him  by  an  offer  to  buy  the  Sea  Fox  and 
pay  what  he  believed  the  Indian  would  consider 
a  fabulous  price.  It  was  a  fatal  mistake.  The 
Indian  had  no  real  idea  of  the  value  of  his  sloop. 
It  had  come  to  him  as  payment  for  his  share  of 
a  successful  fishing-trip  to  The  Banks  years  before, 
and  he  had  become  attached  to  that  craft.  It  had 
been  his  home,  his  floating  wigwam,  for  a  long 
time,  and  for  Wolf  to  want  to  buy  it  hurt  him. 

"Me  no  sell  boat,"  he  said,  when  the  offer  was 
made.  "Me  want  sloop  long  time." 

Wolf,  who  valued  all  things  from  a  miser's 
standpoint,  could  not  understand  that  there  might 
lurk  in  the  Indian  a  tinge  of  sentiment.  He  was 
mistaken,  and  the  mistake  was  a  little  pitfall 
placed  in  his  way. 

There  was  another  which  he  was  also  to  blame 
for,  and  yet,  like  the  first,  he  was  not  aware  of  it. 
In  the  cave  where  he  had  stored  his  cargo  and 
prepared  it  for  smuggling,  he  kept  a  large  can  of 
cheap  and  highly  inflammable  oil  on  a  rock  shelf, 
just  above  the  flat  stone  where  he,  by  the  light 
of  two  lamps,  had  counted  his  wealth  time  and 
again.  True  to  his  nature,  when  he  bought  the 
oil  he  bought  the  cheapest,  and  unknown  to  him 
the  can  had  sprung  aleak  and  while  he  had  been 
absent  for  weeks  at  a  time,  the  oil  had  run  out,  sat- 
26 


Nemesis. 

urating  the  rock  below  and  forming  little  pools  on 
the  cave  floor  among  the  loose  stones.  Wolf  had 
not  noticed  this,  or,  if  he  had,  had  thought  noth 
ing  of  it.  Neither  did  he  realize  how  fate  could 
utilize  his  miser's  instinct  in  purchasing  the  cheap 
can  as  a  means  to  bring  together  and  bless  two 
lives  unknown  to  him.  We  seldom  do  notice  the 
snags  in  life  that  usually  trip  us. 

By  the  time  the  last  voyage  of  the  Sea  Fox 
had  been  made  and  she  returned  to  The  Pocket, 
the  relations  between  Wolf  and  the  Indian  were 
in  danger  of  rupture.  Wolf  distrusted  his  part 
ner,  and  yet  believed  he  had  lulled  all  suspicion. 
He  had  never  failed  before  in  duping  any  one 
he  had  set  out  to;  why  should  he  in  this  case? 
Still,  he  was  uneasy  and  resolved  to  end  it  all  as 
soon  as  possible.  But  Indians  have  one  peculiar 
ity  that  will  baffle  even  the  shrewdest  Jew.  They 
never  talk.  Their  faces  are  always  as  expression 
less  as  a  graven  image.  While  contemplating  the 
most  cruel  murder  they  never  show  the  least 
change  in  expression,  nor  do  their  eyes  show  the 
faintest  shadow  of  an  emotion.  They  are  stolid, 
surly  and  Sphinx-like  always.  Wolf's  partner 
was  like  his  race,  and  not  even  by  the  droop  of 
an  eyelid  did  he  betray  the  slowly  gathering  storm 
of  hate  and  rage  within.  He  brooded  over  the 

27 


Pocket  Island. 

hurt  he  felt  when  Wolf  had  wanted  to  buy  his 
sloop,  and  believing  the  Jew  meant  to  rob  him  of 
her,  he  grew  suspicious  and  watched  Wolf.  Not 
by  word  or  sign  did  he  show  it,  and  the  Jew  saw 
it  not.  Wolf  watched  the  Indian  as  closely,  only 
the  Indian  knew  it,  and  Wolf  did  not.  It  was 
now  Wolf  against  fox  and  fox  against  Wolf,  and 
the  swarthy  fox  was  getting  the  best  of  it.  Mean 
while  the  loading  of  the  sloop  for  her  final  de 
parture  proceeded. 

Wolf  had  planned  to  use  the  Indian's  help  to 
the  last,  and  when  all  was  ready,  enter  the  cave, 
secure  the  money  about  his  person  and  sail  away. 
The  cave  entrance  was  under  water  for  about 
two  hours  of  high  tide,  and  Wolf  waited  until  a 
day  came  when  the  tide  served  early.  He  had 
planned  to  go  in  just  before  the  rising  water 
closed  the  entrance,  thus  securing  himself  from 
intrusion;  and  then,  when  the  tide  fell  away,  to 
come  out  ready  to  start.  The  day  and  hour  came 
and  he  entered  the  cave. 

Unknown  to  him  the  Indian  followed! 

Wolf  lighted  a  lamp  and  sat  down.  When 
the  sea  had  closed  the  entrance,  no  sound  entered. 
Wolf  waited.  Ten,  twenty,  thirty  minutes  passed, 
and  all  sound  of  the  ocean  ceased.  He  believed 
himself  alone.  He  lighted  the  other  lamp,  plac- 
28 


Nemesis. 

ing  both  on  the  flat  rock.  Then  he  went  to  the 
rocking  stone,  and  pushing  it  back,  took  from  the 
niche,  one  by  one,  the  bags  of  coin.  These  he 
c.?iried  to  the  table  stone  and  poured  their  con 
tents  into  a  glittering  pile. 

Fr<jin  behind  a  rock  a  pair  of  sinister  eyes 
watched  him ! 

He  felt  that  he  had  two  hours  of  absolute  se 
clusion  and  need  not  hurry.  He  began  to  slowly 
pile  the  coins  in  little  stacks  and  count  them. 
There  was  no  reason  for  haste  and  he  counted 
carefully.  He  enjoyed  this  beyond  all  else  in 
his  vile  life,  and  desired  to  prolong  the  pleasure. 
The  money  was  all  his,  and  he  gloated  over  it. 
No  sense  of  awe  at  his  separation  from  all  things 
human  in  that  damp,  silent  cavern,  still  as  a  tomb, 
came  over  him.  No  thought  of  the  murder  he 
was  soon  to  commit ;  no  feeling  of  remorse,  no 
impulse  of  good ;  no  thought  of  the  future  or  of 
God — entered  his  soul.  Only  the  miser's  joy  of 
possession.  Not  a  sound  entered  the  cavern  and 
only  the  chink  of  the  coin,  as  he  counted  it,  dis 
turbed  the  deathly  silence. 

Still  the  sinister  eyes  watched  him  from  out 
the  darkness! 

Stack  after  stack  he  piled  till  all  was  counted 
— eight  of  one  thousand  dollars  each,  and  twelve 

29 


Pocket  Island. 

of  five  hundred  dollars,  all  in  gold ;  and  twenty 
of  one  hundred  dollars  each  in  silver. 

A  tall,  swarthy  form  crept  noiselessly  toward 
him ! 

It  was  the  supreme  moment  of  his  life,  and 
as  he  gloatingly  gazed  on  the  stacks  glittering 
in  the  dim  light  before  him,  a  delirium  of  joy 
hushed  all  thought  and  deadened  all  sense,  even 
that  of  hearing. 

Nearer  and  nearer  drew  the  swarthy  form ! 

And  as  Wolf  tasted  the  sublime  ecstasy  of  a 
miser's  joy,  his  heaven,  his  God,  suddenly  two 
cold,  massive  hands  closed  tight  about  his  throat. 
But  men  die  hard !  Even  while  unable  to  breathe, 
and  as  he  writhed  and  twisted  beneath  the  awful 
menace  of  death  bearing  him  down,  his  hand 
suddenly  touched  the  pistol  in  his  belt!  The 
next  instant  it  was  drawn  and  fired  full  against 
the  Indian's  breast!  Then  a  shriek  of  death 
agony,  as  his  swarthy  foe  leaped  upward  against 
the  rocky  shelf;  a  crash  of  breaking  glass;  a 
flash  of  fierce  flame  bursting  into  red  billows, 
curling  and  seething  all  about  him  and  turning 
the  cave  into  a  mimic  hell ! 

Outside  could  be  heard  the  sound  of  a  bellow 
ing  bull ! 


30 


The  Boy. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE    BOY. 

A  BOY  is  an  inverted  man.  Small  things  seem 
to  him  great  and  great  ones  small.  Trifling 
troubles  move  him  to  tears  and  serious  ones 
pass  unnoticed.  To  snare  a  few  worthless  suck 
ers  in  the  meadow  brook  is  to  the  country  boy  of 
more  importance  than  the  gathering  of  a  field  of 
grain.  To  play  hooky  and  go  nutting  is  far  bet 
ter  than  to  study  and  fit  himself  for  earning  a 
livelihood.  He  works  at  his  play  and  makes 
play  of  his  work.  He  disdains  boyhood  and 
longs  for  manhood.  .In  spite  of  his  inverted 
position  I  would  rather  be  a  boy  than  a  man, 
and  a  country  boy  than  a  city-bred  one. 

The  country  boy  has  so  much  the  greater 
chance  for  enjoyment  and  is  not  so  soon  warped 
by  restrictions  and  tarnished  by  the  sewers  of 
vice.  He  has  deep  forests,  wide  meadows  and 
pure  brooks  to  play  in ;  and  if  his  feet  grow 
broad  from  lack  of  shoes,  he  hears  the  song  of 

3J 


Pocket  Island. 

"birds,  the  whispers  of  winds  in  the  trees,  and 
knows  the  scent  of  new-mown  hay  and  fresh 
water  lilies,  the  beauty  of  flowers,  green  fields 
and  shady  woods.  He  learns  how  apples  taste 
eaten  under  the  tree,  nuts  cracked  in  the  woods, 
sweet  cider  as  it  runs  from  the  press,  and  straw 
berries  picked  in  the  orchard  while  moist  with 
dew.  All  these  delights  are  a  closed  book  to  the 
city  boy.  The  country  boy  is  surrounded  by 
pure  and  wholesome  influences  and  grows  to  be 
a  better  man  for  it.  The  wide  range  of  forest 
and  field,  pure  air,  sweet  water,  plenty  of  sun  and 
rain  are  all  his,  and  worth  ten  times  the  chance 
for  life,  health,  enjoyment  and  a  good  character 
than  ever  comes  to  the  city  boy.  He  may  sooner 
learn  to  smoke  or  gather  a  choice  selection  of 
profane  and  vulgar  words ;  he  may  have  smaller 
feet  and  better  clothes,  but  he  often  fails  in  at 
taining  a  healthy  body  and  pure  mind  and  never 
knows  what  a  royal,  wide-open  chance  for  enjoy 
ing  boyhood  days  he  has  missed.  He  never  knows 
the  delight  of  wading  barefoot  down  a  mountain 
brook  where  the  clear  water  leaps  over  mossy 
ledges  and  where  he  can  pull  trout  from  every 
foam-flecked  pool !  He  never  realizes  the  charm 
ing  suspense  of  lying  upon  the  grassy  bank  of  a 
meadow  stream  and  snaring  a  sucker,  or  what 
32 


The  Boy. 

fun  it  is  to  enter  a  chestnut  grove  just  after  frost 
and  rain  have  covered  the  ground  with  brown  nuts, 
or  setting  traps,  shaking  apple  trees,  or  gathering 
wild  grapes!  He  never  rode  to  the  cider-mill 
on  a  load  of  apples  and  had  the  chance  to  shy 
one  at  every  bird  and  squirrel  on  the  way;  or 
when  winter  came,  to  slide  down  hill  when  the 
slide  was  a  half-mile  field  of  crusted  snow!  All 
these  and  many  other  delights  he  never  knows; 
but  one  thing  he  does  know,  and  knows  it 
early,  and  that  is  how  much  smarter,  better 
dressed  and  better  off  in  every  way  he  is  than 
the  poor,  despised  greeny  of  a  country  boy !  He 
may,  it  is  true,  go  early  to  the  theatre  and  look 
at  half-nude  actresses  loaded  with  diamonds,  but 
he  never  sees  a  twenty-acre  cedar  pasture  just 
after  an  ice  storm  when  the  morning  sun  shines 
fair  upon  it! 

True  to  his  inverted  comprehension,  the  coun 
try  boy,  and  our  boy  especially,  sees  and  feels 
all  his  surroundings  and  ail  the  voices  of  nature 
from  a  boy's  standpoint.  He  feels  that  his  hours 
of  work  are  long  and  hard,  and  that  the  count- 
Jess  chores  are  interspersed  through  his  daily 
life  on  the  farm  for  the  sole  purpose  of  prevent 
ing  him  from  having  a  moment  he  can  call  his 
own.  He  has  a  great  many  pleasant  hours,  how- 

33 


Pcciet  Island 

ever,  and  does  not  realize  why  they  pass  so  quick 
ly.  His  little  world  seems  large  to  him  and  all 
his  experiences  great  in  their  importance.  A 
ten-acre  meadow  appears  like  a  boundless 
prairie,  and  a  half-mile  wide  piece  of  woods  an 
unbounded  forest. 

On  one  side  of  the  farm  is  a  clear  stream 
known  as  Ragged  Brook,  that,  starting  among 
the  foothills  of  a  low  mountain  range,  laughs 
and  chatters,  leaps  and  tumbles,  down  the  hills, 
through  the  gorges  and  over  the  ledges  as  if  en 
dowed  with  life.  Since  he  is  not  blessed  with 
brothers  or  sisters,  this,  together  with  the  woods, 
the  birds  and  squirrels,  becomes  his  companion. 
The  first  trout  he  ever  catches  in  this  brook  seems 
a  monster  and  never  afterward  does  one  pull 
quite  so  hard.  Isolated  as  he  is,  and  having  none 
but  his  elders  for  company,  he  talks  to  the  crea 
tures  of  the  field  and  forest  as  if  they  could  un 
derstand  him,  and  he  watches  their  ways  and 
habits  and  tries  to  make  them  his  friends.  He 
is  a  lonely  boy,  and  seldom  sees  others  of  his 
age,  so  that  perhaps  when  he  does  they  make  a 
more  distinct  impression  on  his  mind. 

One  day  he  is  allowed  to  go  to  the  mill  with 
his  father,  and  it  is  an  event  in  his  life  he  never 
forgets.  The  old  brown  mill  with  its  big  wheel 
34 


The  Boy. 

splashing  in  the  clear  water;  the  millstones  that 
rumble  so  swiftly;  the  dusty  miller  who  takes 
the  bags  of  grain — all  interest  him,  and  espe 
cially  so  does  the  pond  above  the  mill  that  is 
dotted  with  white  lilies  and  where  there  is  a 
boat  fastened  to  a  willow  by  a  chain.  On  the 
way  back,  and  a  mile  from  home,  his  father 
stops  to  chat  with  a  man  in  front  of  a  large 
house  with  tall  pillars,  and  two  immense  maples 
on  either  side  of  the  gate.  Standing  beside  the 
man  and  holding  onto  one  of  his  hands  with  her 
two  small  ones  is  a  little  girl  who  looks  at  the 
boy  with  bigz  wondrous  eyes.  He  wants  to 
tell  her  about  the  mill  and  ask  her  if  she  ever 
saw  the  great  wheel  go  around,  but  he  is  afraid 
to.  He  hears  the  man  call  her  "Liddy,"  and  won 
ders  if  she  ever  caught  a  fish. 

Then  his  world  grows  larger  as  the  months 
pass  one  by  one,  until  he  is  sent  to  a  little  brown 
schoolhouse  a  mile  away  and  finds  a  small 
crowd  of  boys  and  girls,  only  two  or  three  of 
whom  he  ever  saw  before.  One  of  them  is  the 
girl  who  looked  wonderingly  at  him  a  year  pre 
vious.  He  tells  her  he  knows  what  her  name  is, 
and  feels  a  little  hurt  because  that  fact  does  not 
seem  to  interest  her.  He  studies  his  lessons  be 
cause  he  is  told  he  must,  and  plays  hard  because 
35 


Pocket  Island. 

he  enjoys  it.  lie  feels  no  special  attraction  to 
ward  any  of  his  schoolmates  until  one  winter  day 
this  same  little  blue-eyed  girl  asks  him  for  a 
place  on  his  sled.  He  shares  it  with  her  as  a 
well-behaved  boy  should,  and  so  begins  the  first 
faint  bond  of  feeling  that  like  a  tiny  rill  on  the 
hillside  slowly  gathers  power,  until  at  last,  a 
mighty  river,  it  sweeps  all  other  feelings  before  it. 
How  slowly  that  rippling  rill  of  feeling  grew 
during  the  next  few  years  need  not  be  specified. 
Like  other  boys  of  his  age,  he  feels  at  times 
ashamed  of  caring  whether  she  notices  him  or 
not,  and  again  the  incipient  pangs  of  jealousy, 
because  she  notices  other  boys.  In  a  year  he 
begins  to  bring  her  flag-root  in  summer,  or  big 
apples  in  winter,  and  although  her  way  home 
is  different  from  his,  he  occasionally  feels  called 
upon  to  accompany  her,  heedless  of  the  fact  that 
it  costs,  him  an  extra  half-mile  and  fault-finding 
at  being  late  home.  He  passes  unharmed  through 
the  terrors  of  speaking  pieces  on  examination 
day,  and  when  St.  Valentine's  day  comes  he  con 
quers  the  momentous  task  of  inditing  a  verse 
where  "bliss"  rhymes  with  "kiss"  upon  one  of 
those  missives  which  he  has  purchased  for  five 
cents  at  the  village  store,  and  timidly  leaves  it 


The  Boy. 


where  this  same  girl  will  find  it,  in  her  desk  at 
school. 

On  two  occasions  during  the  last  summer  at 
the  district  school,  he — quite  a  big  boy  now — 
joins  the  older  boys  and  girls  under  a  large  apple 
tree  that  grows  near  the  schoolhouse,  and  plays 
a  silly  game,  the  principal  feature  of  which  con 
sists  in  his  having  to  choose  some  girl  to  kiss. 
As  he  knows  very  well  whom  he  prefers,  and  has 
the  courage  to  kiss  her  when  his  turn  comes,  that 
seems  a  most  delightful  game;  and  although  he 
and  other  boys  who  were  guilty  of  this  proceed 
ing  are  jeered  at  by  the  younger  ones,  the  ex 
perience  makes  such  an  impression  on  him  that  he 
lies  awake  half  the  first  night  thinking  about  it. 

But  all  too  soon  to  him  comes  the  end  of 
schooldays  and  especially  the  charming  compan 
ionship  of  this  particular  fair-haired  girl.  On 
the  last  day  she  asks  him  to  write  in  her  album, 
and  he  again  indulges  in  rhyme  and  inscribes 
therein  a  melancholy  verse,  the  tenor  of  which  is 
a  hope  that  she  will  see  that  his  grave  is  kept 
green,  as  such  an  unhappy  duty  must,  in  the  near 
future,  devolve  upon  some  one.  She  in  turn 
writes  him  a  farewell  note  of  similar  tone,  and 
encloses  a  lock  of  her  hair  tied  with  a  blue  rib 
bon.  He  has  planned  to  walk  home  with  her 

37 


Pocket  Island. 

when  the  last  day  ends,  and  perhaps  participate 
in  a  more  tender  leave-taking,  but  she  rides  home 
with  her  parents,  and  so  that  sweet  scheme  is 
foiled.  With  a  heavy  heart  he  watches  her  out 
of  sight  and  then,  feeling  that  possibly  he  may 
never  see  her  again,  takes  his  books  and  turns 
away  from  the  dear  old  brown  schoolhouse  for  the 
last  time.  He  locks  the  curl  of  hair  and  her  note 
up  in  a  tin  box  where  he  keeps  his  fish-hooks, 
and  resumes  his  unending  round  of  hard  work 
and  chores.  His  horizon  has  enlarged  a  good 
deal,  for  he  is  now  twelve  years  old — but  it  does 
not  yet  include  Liddy. 

It  is  over  a  year  before  he  sees  her  again, 
though  once,  when  given  a  rainy  half-day  to  fish 
in  Ragged  Brook,  he,  like  a  silly  boy,  deserts 
that  enticing  stream  for  an  hour  and  cuts  across 
lots  near  her  home  in  hopes  that  he  may  see  her 
again,  but  fails. 

Then  one  summer  day  a  surprise  comes  to 
him.  Half  a  mile  from  his  home,  and  in  the  di 
rection  his  thoughts  often  turn,  is  a  cedar  pas 
ture  where  blackberries  grow  in  plenty,  and  here 
he  is  sent  to  pick  them.  It  is  here,  and  while 
unconscious  what  Fate  has  in  store  for  him,  that 
he  suddenly  hears  a  scream,  and  running  toward 
him,  down  the  path  comes  a  girl  in  a  short  dress 
33 


The  Boy. 

with  a  calico  sunbonnet  flying  behind  her,  until 
almost  at  his  feet  she  stumbles  and  falls  and 
there,  sprawling  on  the  grass,  is — Liddy. 

In  an  instant  he  is  at  her  side,  and  how  glad 
he  is  of  the  chance  to  help  her  up  and  soothe  her 
fears  no  one  but  himself  ever  knows.  She,  too, 
has  been  picking  berries,  and  has  come  suddenly 
upon  a  monster  snake  just  gliding  from  a  cedar 
bough  almost  over  her  head.  When  her  fright 
subsides  he  at  once  hunts  for  and  kills  that  rep 
tile  with  far  more  satisfaction  than  he  ever  felt 
in  killing  one  before.  It  is  an  ungrateful  return, 
for  although  the  boy  knew  it  not,  the  snake  has 
done  him  a  greater  kindness  than  he  ever  re 
alized.  Then  when  all  danger  is  removed,  how 
sweet  it  is  to  sit  beside  her  in  the  shade  and 
talk  over  schooldays  while  he  looks  into  her  ten 
der  blue  eyes.  And  how  glad  he  is  to  fill  her 
pail  with  berries  which  he  has  picked,  and  when 
the  sun  is  almost  down  how  charming  it  is  to 
walk  home  with  her  along  the  maple-shaded  lane ! 
He  even  hopes  that  he  will  see  another  snake  so 
that  he  can  kill  that  also,  and  show  her  how 
brave  a  boy  is.  But  no  more  snakes  come  to 
his  aid  that  day  and  only  the  gentlest  of  breezes 
rustles  the  spreading  boughs  that  shade  their 
pathway.  When  she  thanks  him  at  parting,  a 
39 


Pocket  Island. 

little  look  of  gratitude  makes  her  blue  eyes  seem 
more  tender  than  ever  to  him  and  her  voice 
sound  like  sweetest  music. 

His  world  has  enlarged  wonderfully  now,  for 
Liddy  has  entered  into  it. 


40 


The  Boy's  First  Party. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  BOY^S  FIRST  PARTY. 

THE  Stillman  girls  were  going  to  give  a  party, 
and  the  boy  was  invited.  It  was  the  first  social 
recognition  he  had  ever  received,  and  it  disturbed 
his  equilibrium.  It  also  made  him  feel  that  he 
was  almost  a  man. 

He  had  for  some  time  longed  to  be  a  man, 
and  for  a  year  past  had  felt  hurt  when  called  a 
boy.  When  the  little  note  of  invitation,  request 
ing  "the  pleasure  of  your  company,"  etc.,  reached 
him,  he  felt  he  had  suddenly  grown  taller.  He 
realized  it  more  fully  that  night  when  he  tried 
on  his  best  clothes  to  see  how  they  would  look. 
The  sleeves  of  his  jacket  were  too  short  and  his 
pants  missed  connections  with  his  boots  by  full 
two  inches.  The  gap  seemed  to  swell  the  size 
of  his  feet,  also.  When  he  looked  in  his  little 
rnirror  he  -noticed  a  plainly  defined  growth  of 
down  on  his  lip,  and  his  hair  needed  cutting. 

Then  the  invitation  filled  him  with  mingled 
41 


Pocket  Island. 

fear,  surprise  and  pleasure.  He  hardly  knew, 
after  thinking  it  all  over,  whether  he  wanted  to 
go  or  not.  The  one  fact  that  turned  the  scale 
was  Liddy.  He  was  sure  she  would  be  there. 
But  then,  that  painful  gap  between  his  pants  and 
boots!  He  had  thought  a  good  deal  about  her 
ever  since  school  was  over.  Now  that  he  was 
invited  to  a  party  where  she  would  be,  he  began 
to  feel  just  a  little  afraid  of  her. 

When  the  important  evening  came  and  he 
presented  himself  at  the  Stillmans'  house,  and 
lifted  the  big  iron  knocker  on  the  front  door, 
its  clang  sounded  loud  enough  to  wake  the  dead, 
and  his  heart  was  going  like  a  trip-hammer. 
Mary  Stillman  met  him  at  the  door,  and  her  wel 
come  was  so  cordial  he  couldn't  understand  it. 
He  wasn't  much  used  to  society.  All  his  school 
mates  were  there — boys  that  he  had  played  ball, 
snared  suckers,  and  gone  in  swimming  with 
scores  of  times,  and  girls  that  seemed  a  good 
deal  taller  than  when  they  went  to  school.  Most 
of  them  were  dressed  in  white,  and  with  their 
rosy  cheeks  and  bright  eyes  made  a  pretty  pic 
ture. 

They  were  nearly  all  in  one  of  the  big  front 
rooms,  and  among  them  was  Liddy,  in  pink  mus 
lin  with  a  broad  sash,  and  bows  of  blue  ribbon 
42 


The  Boy's  First  Party. 

at  the  ends  of  her  two  braids  of  hair.  She 
looked  so  sweet  he  was  more  afraid  of  her  than 
ever.  His  first  thought  was  to  go  into  the  room 
where  some  of  the  boys  were,  but  Mary  Still- 
man  almost  pushed  him  into  the  other  room  a  id 
he  felt  that  he  was  in  for  it.  When  he  sat  down 
next  to  another  boy  and  looked  at  the  girls  whis 
pering  and  giggling  together,  he  almost  wished 
he  had  not  come.  Then  when  he  thought  of  that 
unfriendly  separation  of  his  pants  and  boots  he 
was  sure  of  it.  But  he  caught  a  pleasant  smile 
and  nod  from  Liddy,  and  that  gave  him  a  world 
of  courage. 

Then  he  began  to  talk  to  the  boy  next  to  him, 
and  was  just  beginning  to  forget  that  he  was  at 
a  party,  in  an  exchange  of  experiences  about  bee 
hunting  and  finding  wild  honey,  when  the  oldest 
Stillman  girl  proposed  they  play  button.  He 
had  never  played  button  and  wasn't  anxious  to, 
for  it  might  necessitate  his  walking  about  the 
room  and  expose  that  gap  still  more.  He  pre 
ferred  to  talk  bee-hunting  with  Jim  Pratt.  He 
was  soon  made  to  realize,  however,  that  there  was 
a  different  sort  of  wild  honey  to  be  gathered  at 
a  party,  and  "Button,  button,  who's  got  the  but 
ton?"  was  the  method.  When  it  came  his  turn 
to  pay  a  forfeit,  he  was  directed  to  measure  three 
43 


Pocket  Island. 

yards  of  tape  with  Liddy.  As  this  consisted  in 
kneeling  face  to  face  with  her  on  a  cushion  in 
the  center  of  the  room,  joining  hands,  expand 
ing  arms  to  the  limit,  and  back  again,  punctuat 
ing  each  outward  stretch  with  a  kiss,  it  wasn't 
so  bad.  He  was  sorry  it  wasn't  six  yards  instead 
of  three.  He  could  stand  it  if  Liddy  could — 
only  he  hoped  that  no  one  had  noticed  that  gap. 
On  the  next  round,  Jim  Pratt  was  ordered  to 
stand  in  a  well  four  feet  deep  and  choose  a  girl 
to  pull  him  out.  As  four  feet  meant  four  kisses, 
and  Jim  knew  a  good  thing  when  he  saw  it,  he 
chose  Liddy.  And  then  the  boy  felt  like  licking 
him. 

After  button  came  post  office,  and  the  boy  had 
a  letter  from  Nellie  Barnes,  with  five  cents  post 
age  due,  which  called  for  his  catching  Nellie  and 
kissing  her  five  times.  By  this  time  he  had  for 
gotten  he  was  at  a  party  with  abbreviated  pants, 
and  was  having  no  end  of  a  good  time.  Then 
some  one  started  the  good  old  frolic  of  run  'round 
chimney,  and  as  the  Stillman  house  was  admir 
ably  adapted  for  that,  the  fun  waxed  fast  and 
furious.  It  was  catch  any  girl  you  wanted  to, 
and  kiss  her  if  you  did.  In  the  romp  the  boy's 
collar  came  off,  and  he  asked  Liddy  to  pin  it  on, 
and  when  she  purposely  pricked  him  a  little,  he 
44 


The  Boy's  First  Party. 

grabbed  her  and  kissed  her  a  few  times  extra, 
just  for  luck.  He  was  rapidly  realizing  why  he 
was  there,  and  what  for.  And  that  gap  had 
passed  entirely  out  of  his  mind. 

Then  the  boys,  all  rather  warm  and  excited, 
•were  requested  to  go  into  the  kitchen  and  carry 
refreshments  to  the  girls,  and  our  boy  and  Liddy 
were  soon  ensconced  in  a  cosy  corner  with  two 
piates  rilled  with  a  medley  of  frosted  cake,  mince 
pie,  tarts  and  the  like,  and  as  happy  as  two  birds 
in  a  nest.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  eaten 
with  her,  and  an  event  in  his  life  of  no  small  im 
portance.  They  also  talked  as  fast  as  they  ate. 
She  told  him  all  her  little  plans  about  going  to 
the  village  academy  the  next  term,  and  what  she 
liked  to  study,  and  all  about  a  little  white  rabbit 
that  her  father  had  given  her  on  her  last  birth 
day  and  how  cunning  it  was.  The  boy  decided  at 
once  that  he  would  have  a  white  rabbit  if  he  had 
to  steal  one.  He  also  told  her  that  he  had  found 
a  nest  of  young  foxes  that  summer  and  had  kept 
them  ever  since  in  a  pen,  and  he  offered  to  give 
her  one.  He  also  assured  her  he,  too,  meant  to 
go  to  the  academy  if  his  parents  would  let  him. 
It  was  a  charming  visit,  and  the  boy's  heart 
warmed  in  a  wonderful  way,  and  Liddy's  blue 
eyes  looked  into  his  brown  ones  so  sweetly  that 

45 


Pocket  Island. 

he  felt  as  if  heaven  was  just  ahead.  Like  a 
wise  boy  he  asked  her  then  and  there  if  he  could 
go  home  with  her,  which,  of  course,  he  could,  and 
so  all  was  well.  Almost  before  any  one  realized 
it,  the  time  for  the  party  to  break  up  came,  and 
with  a  chorus  of  "good-nights"  the  happy  gath 
ering  ended. 

When  the  boy,  with  Liddy's  soft  hand  curled 
confidingly  around  his  arm,  started  for  her  home, 
a  mile  away,  he  was  proud  as  a  king,  and  far 
happier.  And  that  long  walk  in  the  moonlight, 
while 

"On  his  arm  a  soft  hand  rested ;  rested  light  as  ocean's 
foam," — 

could  he,  or  would  he,  ever  forget  it?  I  think 
not.  It  was  a  poem  of  blue  eyes  like  spring 
violets,  of  tender,  loving  words,  of  mellow  moon 
light  on  the  fields  where  the  corn-shocks  stood 
in  spectral  rows,  and  the  brook  they  crossed 
looked  like  a  rippling  stream  of  silver;  where 
the  maples  along  the  lane,  still  clad  in  yellow 
foliage,  cast  mottled  shadows  in  their  pathway, 
and  the  fallen  leaves  rustled  beneath  their  feet. 
They  did  not  talk  much — their  hearts  were  too 
full  of  love's  young  dream — although  he  told  her 
of  his  visit  to  a  deserted  house  a  year  before,  and 

46 


The  Boy's  First  Party. 

how  he  heard  ghostly  footsteps  in  the  house,  and 
saw  a  closet  door  swing  half  open  in  a  shadowy 
room,  and  he  was  sure  there  was  a  ghost  in  that 
closet;  at  which  Liddy 's  arm  clasped  his  a  little 
closer.  Maybe  he  enlarged  a  trifle  upon  that 
spook.  Almost  any  boy  with  a  fertile  imagination 
and  his  sweetheart  clinging  to  his  arm,  on  a  moon 
lit  maple  lane,  with  no  one  near,  would.  I  am 
sure  I  would  if  I  were  a  boy. 

When  her  home  was  reached  he  was  revolving 
a  serious  problem  in  his  mind.  To  kiss  Liddy  in 
the  games  at  the  party  was  easy  enough.  It  was 
a  part  of  the  play,  and  expected.  He  had  eveff 
ventured  a  few  independent  ones  when  she  pricked 
him,  and  though  he  got  his  ears  boxed,  she  didn't 
seem  angry.  But  to  deliberately  kiss  her  now  at 
parting  was  an  entirely  different  matter.  No 
doubt  Liddy  knew  what  he  was  thinking  about, 
for  when  the  gate  was  reached  she  paused  and 
did  not  enter.  She  thanked  him  sweetly  for  his 
company  home,  and  declared  she  had  had  a  de 
lightful  time.  He  assured  her  he  had,  and  then 
there  was  a  pause.  It  was  a  critical  moment.  He 
looked  at  the  moon,  high  overhead.  The  man 
in  it — as  all  men  would — seemed  to  say :  "Now's 
your  chance,  my  boy ;  kiss  her  quick !"  And  yet 
he  hesitated.  Then  he  looked  at  the  near-by 

*7 


Pocket  Island. 

l>rook  where  the  ripples  were  like  dancing  silver 
coin,  and  then  at  Liddy.  Maybe  the  laughter  of 
those  ripples  gave  him  courage,  for  he  hesitated 
no  longer,  but  full  upon  her  rosy  lips  he  kissed 
her.  Then  he  walked  home,  and  all  the  long  mile, 
though  his  feet  trod  the  earth,  he  knew  it  not. 
Rather  was  he  floating  on  ripples  of  moonlight, 
with  a  fairy-like  face  and  tender  blue  eyes  ever 
hovering  over  him,  and  a  soft  white  hand  cling 
ing  to  his  arm. 

And  so  ended  the  boy's  first  party. 


Serious  Thoughts. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

SERIOUS   THOUGHTS. 

WHEN  the  boy  reached  home  a  new  and  surpris 
ing  change  had  come  to  him.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  began  to  think — and  what  was  more  to 
the  point,  to  faintly  see  himself  as  he  was,  and  the 
picture  was  not  pleasant.  He  had  longed  to  be 
a  man.  He  began  to  feel  that  he  was  almost 
otie,  and  a  poorly  clad  and  ignorant  one  at  that. 
He  lay  awake  nearly  all  that  night,  and  not  only 
lived  the  party  over,  but  more  especially  the  walk 
home  with  Liddy. 

All  he  had  cared  for  before  was  boyish  sports, 
to  do  his  work,  and  escape  wearing  his  best 
clothes.  Now  he  began  to  think  about  those 
same  clothes  and  how  ill  they  fitted  him  and  how 
awkward  they  made  him  look,  and  the  more  he 
thought  about  it  the  more  he  wondered  how  Liddy 
could  have  been  so  nice  to  him.  He  vowed  he 
would  never  be  seen  in  public  again  with  them 
on.  He  had  seen  boys  in  the  village  who  wore 

49 


Pocket  Island. 

neat  and  well-fitting  garments,  a  starched  shirt 
and  collar  that  buttoned  to  it,  instead  of  being 
pinned  to  the  top  of  a  roundabout,  as  his  was, 
and  thinking  of  them  made  him  ashamed  of  him 
self.  And  then  that  awful  gap  between  his  pants 
and  boots!  Then  he  thought  of  how  the  girlt 
were  laughing  when  he  came  into  the  room  at  the 
party,  and  now  he  felt  sure  they  must  have  been 
making  fun  of  him,  and  that  made  him  feel  worse 
than  ever.  His  coarse  boots,  in  comparison  with 
the  nice,  thin  ones  worn  by  some  of  the  other 
toys  there,  also  haunted  him.  In  short,  he  took 
a  mental  inventory  of  himself,  and  the  sum  total 
was  not  pleasing. 

All  the  next  day  he  was  glum  and  thoughtful 
and  for  a  week  he  acted  the  same.  It  was  the 
birth  of  the  man  in  him ;  the  step  from  the  happy, 
care-free  boy  to  young  manhood.  It  was  also, 
be  it  said,  the  beginning  of  a  woman's  refining  in 
fluence  that  has  slowly  and  for  countless  ages 
gradually  lifted  man  from  savagery  to  enlighten 
ment.  An  evolution  of  good  conduct,  garb  and 
cleanliness  made  necessary  by  woman's  favor, 
and  to  win  her  admiration.  The  cynics  call  it 
vanity.  So  then,  must  they  call  the  evolution  of 
the  species  vanity.  It  may  be  so,  but  call  it  what 
you  will,  it's  the  influence  that  has  wTought  the 
50 


Serious  Thoughts. 

naked  savage,  decorated  with  paint  and  feathers,, 
and  courting  his  wife  by  knocking  her  senseless, 
with  a  club  and  carrying  her  to  a  cave,  into  the 
well-dressed,  gallant,  kindly,  thoughtful  and  re 
fined  gentleman  of  to-day. 

Just  a  little  of  this  realizing  sense  of  what  he 
should  be,  and  why,  came  to  the  boy,  and  as  ever 
will  be  it  was  a  woman's  face  and  a  woman's, 
smiles,  albeit  a  very  young  and  blue-eyed  one,, 
that  inspired  the  thought.  His  parents  rallied 
him  a  little  about  the  party,  but  to  him  it  was — 
especially  its  ending,  a  sacred  secret.  Then  one 
day  he  astonished  them  by  asking  if  he  might 
have  a  new  suit  and  go  to  the  academy  that  com 
ing  winter.  He  had  never  before  shown  any- 
unusual  eagerness  for  study,  and  this  requesl  was 
surprising.  For  several  weeks  the  question  was 
held  in  abeyance,  though  duly  considered  in  the 
family  councils ;  and  then  one  day  at  the  supper- 
table  the  answer  came. 

"If  the  boy  wants  more  learnin',"  his  father 
said,  "by  gosh,  he  can  have  it.  I  never  had  much 
chance  at  books  myself,  but  that  ain't  no  reason 
why  he  shouldn't.  We'll  fix  ye  up,"  he  said: 
cheerfully,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "so  ye  won't 
be  ashamed  to  go  to  a  party  again ;"  from  which 
it  may  be  inferred  that  the  old  gentleman  had 

5* 


Pocket  Island. 

-divined  some  things  which  the  boy  little  suspected 
he  had. 

When  the  winter  term  at  the  village  academy 
opened,  the  boy  was  there,  his  courage  a  good 
deal  strengthened  by  a  new  suit  that  fitted  and  a 
pair  of  boots  that  did  not  give  the  impression 
that  he  was  falling  downstairs  at  every  step. 
B'lt  his  entry  into  the  new  school  was  not  a  thorn- 
less  path.  Most  of  the  faces  were  new  to  him, 
and  many  a  good  deal  older.  He  still  felt  him 
self  what  he  was — a  big,  awkward  boy,  though 
a  boy  with  a  determined  will  to  study  hard  and 
make  the  most  of  his  opportunity. 

He  soon  learned  a  good  many  things;  one  of 
which  was  that  earnestness  in  study  did  not  al 
ways  win  the  favor  of  either  teacher  or  school 
mates  ;  that  in  school,  as  in  the  world,  pleasant 
manners  and  flattering  words  counted  for  more 
than  devotion  to  duty.  He  also  learned  that  such 
a  thing  as  favoritism  between  master  and  pupil 
existed,  and  that  the  poorest  scholar  often  stood 
nearest  the  teacher's  heart.  The  master,  Mr. 
Webber,  he  discovered,  had  a  monstrous  bump 
of  self-esteem.  He  was  a  small  man,  not  larger 
than  the  boy,  who  was  sixteen,  and  large  for  his 
age,  and  who,  as  big  boys  will,  cherished  a  sort 
of  contempt  for  small  men.  It  is  possible  that 
52 


Serious  Thoughts. 

the  boy  was  entirely  wrong  in  his  estimate  of  the 
principal.  No  doubt  that  worthy,  judged  front 
an  adult  standpoint,  was  the  most  courtly  and 
diplomatic  pedagogue  that  ever  let  his  favorite 
pupils  whisper  all  they  pleased,  and  banged  the 
floor  with  the  other  sinners;  but,  to  the  boy,  he 
seemed  a  little,  arrogant  bit  of  bumptiousness, 
who  strutted  about  the  schoolroom  and  was  es 
pecially  fond  of  hearing  himself  read  aloud. 
"The  Raven"  was  his  favorite  selection,  and  he 
read  it  no  less  than  thirteen  times  during  one 
term. 

The  boy  did  not  feel  at  home  at  the  academy. 
It  was  so  unlike  the  dear  old  district  school.  Bui 
he  felt  it  was  a  good  training  for  him,  and  he 
watched  the  older  scholars  and  studied  hard.  The 
girls  all  wore  long  dresses,  and,  as  a  rule,  were 
just  budding  into  young  womanhood.  Of  these 
he  was  a  trifle  afraid,  especially  of  Liddy,  who 
was  one  of  the  prettiest.  She  was  also  one  of  the 
best  scholars,  and  in  her  studies  easily  a  leader. 
It  acted  as  a  spur  to  the  boy,  whose  secret  though 
ardent  admiration  had  originally  been  the  motive 
force  that  brought  him  to  the  academy.  His  pride 
was  such  that  he  was  ashamed  to  have  her  sur 
pass  him,  and  for  her  to  solve  a  problem  in  alge 
bra  that  he  had  failed  on,  humiliated  him. 
53 


Pocket  Island. 

Another  thing  he  learned  that  winter  besides 
his  lessons,  was  that  stylish  clothes  and  genteel 
manners  in  a  young  man  counted  far  more  in  a 
girl's  estimation  than  proficiency  in  study.  There 
was  one  pupil  in  particular,  named  James  White, 
who,  though  dull  in  lessons,  was  popular  with 
the  girls.  He  was  the  fop  of  the  school,  wore 
the  nattiest  of  garments,  patent-leather  shoes, 
gold  watch,  bosom  pin,  seal  ring,  and  was  blessed 
with  a  nice  little  moustache.  He  also  smoked 
cigars  with  all  the  sang  froid  of  experienced  men. 
It  might  be  said  that  he  prided  himself  on  his 
style,  but  that  was  all  he  had  for  consolation, 
for  he  was  always  at  the  foot  of  his  class.  He 
also  showered  a  deal  of  attention  and  candy  on 
Liddy.  It  is  needless  to  say  the  boy  hated  him, 
and  once  gave  him  a  good  thrashing  for  calling 
him  a  "greeny."  It  was  true  enough,  but  then 
a  boy  who  is  a  greenhorn  doesn't  enjoy  being 
informed  of  it  by  a  better-dressed  stupid  who  tries 
to  cut  him  out! 

There  was  one  other  comfort  the  boy  had :  Kg 
was  often  enabled  to  give  a  far  better  recitation 
than  White  could.  On  these  occasions  a  faint 
look  of  admiration  in  Liddy's  blue  eyes  was  like 
a  rift  of  sunshine"  on  a  cloudy  day  to  him.  When 
the  standing  of  all  pupils  was  read  at  the  middle 
54 


Serious  Thoughts. 

of  the  term,  the  boy  was  away  ahead  of  White, 
and  felt  almost  as  proud  as  the  night  he  walked 
home  with  Liddy  from  his  first  party.  It  cheered 
him  a  deal  in  his  hard  fight  against  ignorance 
and  the  awkwardness  that,  like  hayseed  from  the 
farm,  still  clung  to  him.  How  much  the  few 
quiet  attentions  and  pleasant  words  Liddy  fa 
vored  him  with  encouraged  him,  no  one  but  him 
self  ever  knew.  He  never  told  Liddy  even,  till 
a  good  many  years  after.  Toward  the  end  of  the 
term  this  studious  little  lady  gave  a  party,  and 
with  the  rest  the  boy  was  invited.  It  gladdened 
his  heart,  of  course,  but  when  the  day  before  the 
affair,  and  as  they  were  all  leaving  the  hill  upon 
which  the  academy  stood,  she  quietly  said  to 
him:  "Come  early,  I  want  you  to  help  me  get 
ready  to  play  a  new  game  called  questions,"  he 
felt  like  a  king.  It  is  needless  to  say  he  went 
•early. 

The  new  game  proved  a  success.  It  con 
sisted  of  as  many  numbered  cards  as  there 
were  players,  distributed  among  them  by 
chance.  The  holders  of  these  were  each 
in  turn  to  give  an  answer  to  any  ques 
tion  asked  beginning  with  "Who,"  the  selection 
being  made  by  the  chance  drawing  of  one  of 
the  same  series  of  numbers  from  a  hat.  To  illus- 
55 


Pocket  Island. 

trate :  If  there  were  thirty  boys  and  girls  play 
ing  the  same  game,  cards  bearing  the  numbers 
from  one  to  thirty  were  distributed  among  them. 
As  many  more  bearing  the  same  numbers  were 
retained  by  the  leader,  who  would  start  the  game 
by  asking,  for  instance:  "Who  has  the  largest 
mouth?"  A  number  would  be  drawn  from  the 
hat  and  the  boy  or  girl  who  held  the  duplicate 
number  was  by  this  means  identified  as  having  a 
suitable  mouth  for  pie.  He  or  she  in  turn  was 
then  at  liberty  to  get  square  by  asking  another 
question  also  beginning  with  "who,"  and  so  on. 

"Questions"  scored  a  hit  and  made  no  end  of 
fun.  Some  one  asked :  "Who  is  the  biggest  fool 
in  the  room?"  and  when  the  number  was  called 
and  Master  White  proved  to  hold  the  duplicate, 
the  boy  smiled,  for  retribution  occasionally  over 
takes  those  who  wear  too  fine  clothes.  A  young 
folks'  party  in  those  days  would  be  no  party  at 
all  unless  there  were  some  kissing  games,  and 
when  toward  the  close  of  this  one,  somebody  pro 
posed  they  wind  up  with  "Copenhagen,"  all 
seemed  willing. 

When  the  little  gathering  had  departed,  the 
boy  made  bold  to  stay  a  few  minutes  longer  and 
hold  a  most  delightful  though  brief  chat  with 
Liddy.  They  talked  over  a  lot  of  mutually  in- 

56 


Serious  Thoughts. 

teresting  subjects,  including  their  opinions  of  Mr. 
Webber,  and  if  that  worthy  could  have  heard 
what  they  said  it  might  have  reduced  his  bump 
tiousness  just  a  trifle.  Liddy  also  assured  the 
boy  that  she  did  not  care  a  row  of  pins  for  Jim 
White,  and  considered  him  too  awfully  stuck  up 
for  endurance,  all  of  which,  mingled  with  a  few 
sweet  smiles,  caused  our  young  friend  to  feel  that 
his  future  life  at  the  academy  might  be  pleasanter 
for  him. 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

LIDDY. 

IN  one  of  the  New  England  States,  and  occu 
pying  a  beautiful  valley  between  two  low  ranges 
of  mountains,  was  the  town  of  Southton.  One 
of  these  ranges,  that  on  the  east,  was  known  as 
the  Blue  Hills;  the  other  was  nameless.  This 
valley  was  about  four  miles  in  width,  and  winding 
through  it  ran  a  small  river.  On  the  banks  of 
this,  and  nearly  in  the  center  of  the  town,  was  a 
village,  or  "town  center,"  as  it  was  called,  con 
taining  two  churches,  an  academy  and  several 
stores.  In  one  of  these  churches,  Rev.  Jonas 
Jotham  expounded  the  orthodox  Congregational 
faith,  including  predestination,  foreordination, 
and  all  creation,  and  in  the  other  Rev.  Samuel 
Wetmore  argued  on  the  same  lines,  clinching 
them  all  with  the  necessity  of  total  immersion 
as  a  means  of  salvation. 

There  was  no  affiliation  between  the  two  sects, 
each  declaring  the  other  totally  blind  to  Scriptu- 
51 


I 

Liddy. 

ral  truths ;  wrong  in  all  points  of  creed,  and  sure 
to  be  damned  for  it.  Sectarian  feeling  was 
strong,  social  lines  between  the  two  churches 
were  sharply  drawn,  and  the  enmities  of  feeling 
engendered  in  the  pulpits  were  reflected  among 
the  members.  Each  worthy  dominie  emitted  long 
sermons  every  Sunday,  often  extending  to  "sev- 
enteenthly,"  while  occasionally  a  few  of  the  good 
deacons  slept ;  and  so,  year  after  year,  the  windy 
war  continued. 

In  the  meantime  the  children  attended  school, 
played  hard,  were  happy,  grew  up,  courted,  mar 
ried,  and  kept  on  farming,  and  life  in  Southton 
flowed  onward  as  peacefully  as  the  current  of  the 
river  that  meandered  through  it. 

Near  the  eastern  border,  and  beside  a  merry 
brook  that  tumbled  down  from  the  Blue  Hi!? 
range,  was  the  home  of  Loring  Camp,  his  wife, 
and  his  only  daughter,  Liddy.  He  was  not  a 
member  of  either  of  the  two  orthodox  churches, 
but  a  fearless,  independent  thinker,  believing  in 
a  merciful  God  of  love  and  forgiveness,  rather 
than  a  Calvinistic  one,  and  who  might  be  classed 
as  a  Unitarian  in  opinion.  Broad-chested,  broad- 
minded,  outspoken  in  his  ways,  he  was  at  once  it 
loving  husband,  a  kind  father,  a  good  neighbor, 
an  honest  man  and  respected.  Tilling  a  small 

59 


Pocket  Island. 

farm  and  mingling  with  that  more  or  less  atten 
tion  to  his  trade  of  a  builder,  he  earned  a  good 
livelihood.  A  reader  of  the  best  books  and  a 
thinker  as  well,  he  was  firm  in  his  convictions, 
terse  in  his  criticism,  and  yet  charitable  toward 
all.  His  daughter  inherited  her  father's  keen  in 
tellect  and  her  mother's  fair  face  and  complexion, 
it  is  needless  to  say,  was  the  pride  of  his  heart 
and  loved  by  all. 

Of  Liddy  herself,  since  she  is  the  central  fig 
ure  in  this  narrative,  a  more  explicit  description 
must  be  given.  To  begin  with,  she  was  at  the 
age  of  seventeen,  a  typical  New  England  girl  of 
ordinary  accomplishments,  home  loving  and  filial 
in  disposition,  with  a  nature  as  sweet  as  the  dia- 
sies  that  grew  in  the  green  meadows  about  her 
home,  and  a  mind  as  clear  as  the  brook  that  rip 
pled  through  them.  Fond  of  pretty  things  in  the 
house,  a  daintily  set  table,  tidy  rooms,  and  loving 
neatness  and  order,  she  was  a  good  cook,  a  capa 
ble  housekeeper  and  a  charming  hostess  as  well. 
She  loved  the  flowers  that  bloomed  each  summer 
in  the  wide  dooryard,  and  had  enough  romance 
to  enjoy  nature's  moods  at  all  times.  She  cared 
but  little  for  dress  and  abhorred  loud  or  conspicu 
ous  garments  of  any  kind.  While  fond  of  music, 
she  never  had  had  an  opportunity  to  cultivate  that 
63 


Liddy. 

taste,  and  her  sole  accomplishment  in  that  respect 
was  to  play  upon  the  cottage  organ  that  stood 
in  her  parlor,  and  sing  a  few  simple  ballads  or 
Sabbath-school  hymns.  She  was  of  medium 
height,  with  a  charmingly  rounded  figure,  and 
blessed  with  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  that  could  change 
from  grave  to  gay,  from  mirth  to  tenderness,  as 
easily  as  clouds  cross  the  sun.  With  the  crown 
ing  glory  of  her  sunny  hair,  a  sweet  and  sym 
pathetic  mouth,  modest  and  unassuming  ways, 
tender  heart  and  affectionate  manner,  she  was  an 
unusually  attractive  girl. 

Of  her  feelings  toward  the  boy  little  need  be 
said ;  and  since  he  has  now  reached  eighteen  and 
a  moustache,  he  deserves  and  shall  have  an  in 
troduction  by  his  name  of  Mr.  Charles  Manson. 
He  was  tall,  had  honest  brown  eyes,  an  earnest 
manner;  was  unsophisticated  and  believed  all 
the  world  like  himself,  good  and  true.  He  was 
of  cheerful  temper  and  generous  disposition; 
hated  shams  and  small  conceits,  and — next  to 
Liddy — loved  the  fields,  the  woods,  and  the 
brooks  that  had  been  his  companions  since  boy 
hood.  She  had  known  him  when,  at  the  district 
school,  he  ignored  girls;  and  later,  as  he  began 
to  bring  her  flag-root  in  summer,  or  draw  her  on 
his  sled  in  winter,  she  had  taken  more  notice  of 
6\ 


Pocket  Island. 

him.  When  he  left  the  little  brown  schoolhouse 
for  good  she  had  given  him  a  lock  of  hair, 
though  for  what  reason  she  could  hardly  tell ;  and 
when  he  walked  home  with  her  from  his  first 
party  she  felt  startled  a  little  at  his  boldness  in 
kissing  her.  That  act  had  caused  a  flutter  in  her 
feelings,  and  though  she  thought  none  the  less 
of  him  for  it,  nothing  would  have  tempted  her  to 
tell  her  parents  about  it.  That  experience  may  be 
considered  as  the  birthday  of  her  girlish  love,  and 
after  that  they  were  always  the  best  of  friends. 
He  had  never  been  presuming,  but  had  always 
treated  her  with  a  kind  of  manly  respect  that 
slowly  but  surely  had  won  her  heart. 

When  they  met  at  the  academy  she  feared  he 
might  be  too  attentive,  but  when  she  found  him 
even  less  so  than  she  expected,  unknown  to  her 
self,  her  admiration  increased.  While  she  gave 
him  but  little  encouragement  there,  still  if  he  had 
paid  any  attention  to  another  girl  it  would  have 
hurt  her.  By  nature  she  despised  any  deception, 
and  to  be  called  a  flirt  was  to  her  mind  an  insult. 
She  would  as  soon  have  been  called  a  liar.  On 
the  other  hand,  any  display  of  affection  in  public 
was  equally  obnoxious.  She  was  loving  by 
nature,  but  any  feeling  of  that  kind  toward  a 
young  man  was  a  sacred  matter,  that  no  one 
62 


Liddy. 

should  be  allowed  to  suspect,  or  at  least  inspect. 
This  may  be  an  old-fashioned  peculiarity,  yet  it 
was  a  part  of  her  nature.  It  may  seem  strange, 
but  "Charlie,"  as  she  always  called  her  admirer, 
had  early  discovered  this  and  had  always  been 
governed  by  it. 

It  is  not  easy  to  give  an  accurate  pen-picture  of 
a  young  and  pretty  girl  who  is  bright,  vivacious, 
piquant,  tender,  sweet  and  lovable.  One  might 
as  well  try  to  describe  the  twinkle  of  a  star  or 
the  rainbow  flash  of  a  diamond.  To  picture  the 
growth  of  love  in  such  a  girl's  heart  is  like  de 
scribing  the  shades  of  color  in  a  rose,  or  the  ex 
pression  of  affection  in  the  eyes  of  a  dog,  and 
equally  impossible. 

Liddy 's  home  was  one  of  the  substantial,  old- 
time  kind,  with  tall  pillars  in  front,  a  double 
piazza  and  wide  hall,  where  stood  an  ancient 
clock  of  solemn  tick.  There  were  open  fireplaces 
in  parlor  and  sitting-room,  and  the  wide  door- 
yard  was  divided  by  a  graveled  and  flower-bor 
dered  walk,  where  in  summer  bloomed  syringas; 
sweet  williams,  peonies  and  phlox.  On  either 
side  of  the  gate  were  two  immense  and  broad- 
spreading  maples.  Houses  have  moods  as  well 
as  people,  and  the  mood  of  this  one  was  calm, 
cool,  dignified  and  typical  of  its  fairest  inmate, 

63 


Pocket  Island. 

When  the  first  term  of  their  academy  life  to 
gether  closed,  and  the  long  summer  vacation  be 
gan,  Manson  called  on  Liddy  the  next  Sunday 
evening  and  asked  her  to  take  a  ride.  He  had 
called  at  various  times  before,  but  not  as  though 
she  were  the  sole  object  of  his  visit.  This  time 
he  came  dressed  in  his  best  and  as  if  he  boldly 
came  to  woo  the  fair  girl.  All  that  summer  he 
\vas  a  regular  caller,  and  always  received  the 
same  quiet  and  cordial  welcome.  Together  they 
enjoyed  many  delightful  drives  along  shaded 
roads  on  pleasant  afternoons  or  moonlit  evenings, 
and  each  charming  hour  only  served  to  bind  the 
chains  of  love  more  tightly.  Occasionally  they 
gathered  waterlilies  from  a  mill  pond  hidden  away 
among  the  hills,  and  one  Saturday  afternoon  he 
brought  her  to  Ragged  Brook — a  spot  that  had 
been  the  delight  of  his  boyhood — and  showed  her 
how  to  catch  a  trout. 

The  first  one  she  hooked  she  threw  up  into  the 
top  of  a  tree,  and  as  the  line  was  wound  many 
times  around  the  tip  of  the  limb  the  fish  had  to 
be  left  hanging  there.  Though  almost  mature 
in  years,  they  were  in  many  ways  like  children, 
telling  each  other  their  little  plans  and  hopes, 
and  giving  and  receiving  mutual  sympathy.  It 
was  all  the  sweetest  and  best  kind  of  a  courtship, 

64 


Liddy. 

for  neither  was  conscious  that  it  was  such,  and 
when  schooltime  came  after  the  summer  was  over, 
the  tender  bond  between  them  had  reached  a 
strength  that  was  likely  to  shape  and  determine 
the  history  of  their  lives.  How  many  coming 
heartaches  were  also  to  be  woven  into  the  ten 
der  bond  they  little  realized. 


65 


Pocket  Island. 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE  HUSKING-BEE. 

WHEN  David  Newell,  a  prosperous  Southton 
farmer  living  "over  east,"  as  that  portion  of  the 
town  was  designated,  invited  all  the  young  peo 
ple  in  the  vicinity  to  his  annual  husking-bee, 
every  one  knew  that  a  good  time  was  in  store. 
Card-playing  was  considered  a  vice  in  those  days, 
and  limited  to  a  few  games  of  "seven-up,"  played 
by  sinful  boys  on  a  hay-mow,  and  dancing  was 
frowned  upon  by  the  churches.  On  the  outskirts 
of  the  town  a  few  of  the  younger  people  occa 
sionally  indulged  in  the  crime  of  taking  steps  to 
music  as  a  change  from  the  pious  freedom  of 
kissing  parties,  There  was  one  sacrilegious  per 
son  named  Joe  Dencie  living  in  the  east-side 
neighborhood,  who  could  not  only  "make  a  fiddle 
talk,"  as  the  saying  was,  but  "call  off"  and  keep 
time  and  head,  foot,  both  arms  and  entire 
"body  as  well,  and  at  once.  To  describe  his  abil 
ity  more  completely  it  might  be  said  that  he  fid 
dled  and  danced  at  the  same  time. 

66 


The  Husking-Bee. 

When  the  anticipated  evening  came,  Manson 
and  Liddy,  as  well  as  other  invited  ones,  arrived 
at  the  Newell  barn,  where  everything  was  in 
readiness.  In  the  center  of  the  large  floor  was  a 
pile  of  tmhusked  corn  surrounded  by  stools  and 
boxes  for  seats,  and  lighted  by  lanterns  swinging; 
from  cords  above.  No  time  was  wasted,  for  Joe 
Dencie  was  there,  and  every  one  knew  that  the 
best  of  a  husking  came  after  the  corn  was  dis 
posed  of.  And  how  the  husks  flew!  When  a 
red  ear  was  found  by  a  girl  the  usual  scramble 
occurred,  for  unless  she  could  run  once  around 
the  pile  before  the  young  man  who  discovered  it 
could  catch  her,  he  claimed  a  kiss.  Manson,  who 
sat  next  to  Liddy,  kept  a  sharp  watch,  for  he 
didn't  intend  to  have  some  other  fellow  steal  a 
march  on  him.  He  noticed  that  she  husked  cau 
tiously,  and  when  presently  he  saw  her  drop  an 
unhusked  ear  by  her  side  he  quietly  picked  it 
up  and  found  it  was  a  red  one.  He  said  nothing, 
but  her  action  set  him  to  thinking.  It  was  not 
long  ere  the  pile  of  corn  melted  away,  and  then 
the  floor  was  swept;  Joe  Dencie  took  his  place 
in  one  corner  on  a  tall  stool,  and  the  party  formed 
in  two  lines  for  the  Virginia  reel. 

There  is  no  modern  "function"  that  has  one- 
half  the  fun  in  it  that  an  old-time  husking-bee 

67 


Pocket  Island. 

had,  and  no  dance  that  can  compare  with  an  old- 
fashioned  contra-dance  enjoyed  in  a  big  barn, 
with  one  energetic  fiddler  perched  in  a  corner 
for  an  orchestra,  and  six  lanterns  to  light  the 
festivities!  It  was  music,  mirth,  care-free  hap 
piness  and  frolic  personified.  The  floor  may  have 
been  rough,  but  what  mattered?  The  young 
men's  boots  might  have  been  a  trifle  heavy,  but 
their  hearts  were  not,  and  when  it  came  to  "bal 
ance  and  swing,"  with  the  strains  of  "Money 
Musk"  echoing  from  the  bare  rafters,  the  girl 
knew  she  had  a  live  fellow's  arm  around  her 
waist,  and  not  one  afraid  to  more  than  touch 
her  fingers  lest  her  costume  be  soiled.  Girls 
didn't  wear  "costumes"  in  those  days ;  they  wore 
just  plain  dresses,  and  their  plump  figures,  bright 
eyes  and  rosy  cheeks  were  as  charming  as  though 
they  had  been  clad  in  Parisian  gowns. 

When  the  dance  was  over  all  were  invited  into 
the  house  to  dispose  of  mince  pie,  cheese,  dough 
nuts  and  sweet  cider,  and  then,  with  the  moon 
silvering  the  autumn  landscape,  the  party  sepa 
rated.  As  Manson  drove  along  the  wooded  road 
conveying  Liddy  to  her  home,  he  felt  a  little 
curious.  He  could  not  quite  understand  why  she 
had  taken  pains  not  to  find  a  red  ear.  All  the 


The  Husking-Bee. 

other  girls  had  found  one  or  more,  and  seemed 
to  enjoy  the  scramble  that  followed. 

"Why  did  you  not  husk  that  red  ear?"  he 
asked  her,  after  they  were  well  on  their  way. 

"Simply  because  I  do  not  like  public  kissing," 
she  replied  quietly.  "Some  girls  do  not  mind, 
and  perhaps  they  like  it.  I  do  not.  It  cheapens 
a  girl  in  my  opinion,  or  at  least  it  certainly  cheap 
ens  a  kiss.  You  are  not  offended,  are  you?" 
turning  her  face  toward  him. 

"By  no  means,"  he  answered;  and  then,  after 
a  pause,  he  added :  "I  think  you  are  right,  but  it 
seemed  a  little  odd." 

"I  presume  I  am  a  little  peculiar,"  she  con 
tinued,  "but  to  me  this  public  kissing  at  parties 
and  huskings  seems  not  only  silly,  but  just  a 
trifle  vulgar.  When  we  were  children  at  the  dis 
trict  school,  I  thought  it  was  fun,  but  it  appears 
different  now."  Then,  after  a  pause :  "If  I  were 
a  young  man  I  would  not  want  the  girl  I  thought 
most  of  kissed  a  dozen  times  by  every  other  fel 
low  at  a  party.  It  is  customary  here  in  South- 
ton,  and  considered  all  right  and  proper,  while 
card-playing  and  dancing  are  not.  I  would 
much  rather  play  cards  or  dance  than  act  like 
school  children." 

"I  most  certainly  agree  with  you,  so  far  as  the 

69 


Pocket  Island. 

cards  and  dancing  go,"  said  Manson,  "and  now 
that  you  put  it  in  the  way  you  have,  I  will  agree 
with  you  regarding  kissing  games." 

As  these  two  young  people  had  just  entered 
their  third  year  at  the  academy,  and  Liddy  was 
only  eighteen,  it  may  seem  that  she  was  rather 
young  to  discuss  the  ethics  of  kissing;  but  it 
must  be  remembered  that  she  was  older  in 
thought  than  in  years,  and  besides,  she  was 
blessed  with  a  father  who  had  rather  liberal  and 
advanced  ideas.  He  did  not  consider  card-play 
ing  at  one's  home  a  vice,  or  dancing  a  crime. 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,"  said  she,  after 
they  had  ridden  in  silence  for  a  time,  and  were 
crossing  a  brook  that  looked  like  a  rippling 
/stream  of  silver  in  the  moonlight. 

"I  was  thinking,"  he  replied,  "of  a  night  just 
like  this  four  years  ago,  when  I  went  home  with 
you  from  that  party  at  the  Stillman's.  It  was  an 
event  in  my  life  that  set  me  thinking." 

""And  have  you  been  thinking  about  it  ever 
since?"  she  said,  laughing.  "If  you  have  it  must 
have  been  an  important  event." 

"No,"  he  answered  quietly ;  "but  if  it  had  not 
1t>een  for  that  party,  it  is  likely  I  should  not  have 
gone  to  the  academy,  and  most  likely  I  should  not 
be  escorting  you  home  to-night." 
70 


The  Husking-Bee. 

"I  do  not  quite  understand  you,"  said  Liddy; 
and  then,  with  an  accent  of  tenderness  in  her 
voice:  "Tell  me  why,  Charlie?" 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  laugh  at  me  if  I  do,"  he 
said. 

"No,"  she  replied,  "I  will  not ;  why  should  I  ?" 

"Well,"  he  continued,  "to  be  candid,  I  was 
rather  ashamed  of  myself  that  evening,  or  at 
least  ashamed  of  my  clothes.  Then  you  told  me 
you  were  going  to  the  academy,  and  for  that  rea 
son  mainly  I  wanted  to  go,  so  you  see  what  re 
sulted  from  my  going  to  the  party.  I  do  not 
think  father  intended  to  send  me,  and  he  would 
not  if  I  had  not  coaxed  him.  My  first  term 
there  was  not  very  pleasant  for  many  reasons, 
and  had  I  known  all  I  was  to  encounter  I  think 
my  courage  would  have  failed  me.  I  am  glad 
now  that  it  did  not."  He  paused  a  moment  and 
then  continued  in  a  lower  tone :  "Whatever  good 
it  has  done  me  is  all  due  to  you." 

No  more  was  said  on  the  subject,  and  as  they 
rode  along  in  silence,  each  was  thinking  of  the 
curious  web  of  emotions  that  was  moulding  their 
lives  and  making  definite  objects  grow  from  in 
tangible  impulses.  He  was  hardly  conscious  yet 
what  a  motive  force  in  his  plans  Liddy  was  des 
tined  to  be;  and  she  was  filled  with  a  new  and 
1\ 


Pocket  Island. 

sweet  consciousness  of  a  woman's  power  to  shape 
a  man's  plans  in  life.  When  her  home  was 
reached,  and  after  he  had  assisted  her  to  alight, 
they  stood  for  a  moment  by  the  gate  beneath  the 
maples.  No  light  was  visible  in  the  house;  no- 
sound  of  any  nature  was  heard.  The  sharp  out 
lines  of  the  buildings  were  softened  by  the  moon 
light,  and  the  bold  formation  of  the  Blue  Hills, 
vague  and  indistinct.  The  near-by  brook,  as  of 
yore,  sparkled  like  silver  coin,  and  the  landscape 
was  bathed  in  mellow  light.  As  Liddy's  face 
was  turned  toward  him,  a  ray  of  moonshine  fell 
upon  it,  and  her  eyes  seemed  to  fill  with  a  new 
tenderness.  It  was  a  time  and  place  for  loving 
thoughts  and  words,  and  what  these  two  young 
hearts  felt  called  upon  to  utter  may  be  safely  left 
to  the  reader's  imagination. 

When  Manson  drove  away,  he  felt  that  the  fu 
ture  was  bright  before  him,  and  that  life  held 
new  and  wonderfully  sweet  possibilities.  If  he 
built  a  few  air  castles  as  he  rode  along  in  silence 
and  alone,  and  if  into  them  crept  a  fair  girl's  face 
and  tender  blue  eyes,  it  was  but  natural.  The 
magic  sweetness  of  our  first  dreams  of  love  come 
but  once  in  their  pure  simplicity;  and  none  ever 
afterward  seem  quite  like  them.  We  may  strive 
to  feel  the  same  tender  thrill ;  we  may  think  the 
72 


The  Husking-Bee. 

same  thoughts  and  build  the  same  fairy  palaces, 
woven  out  of  moonbeams  and  filled  with  the  same 
divine  illusions,  but  all  in  vain,  for  none  can  live 
life  over. 

When  Liddy  entered  her  home  her  footsteps 
seemed  touched  with  a  new  life.  Perhaps  the 
effect  of  "Monejf  Musk"  had  not  entirely  died 
away. 


73 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

GOOD  ADVICE. 

THE  next  day  after  the  husking,  when  Man- 
son  resumed  his  studies  at  the  academy,  a  new 
and  serious  ambition  kept  crowding  itself  into 
his  thoughts.  Some  definite  shape  of  what  the 
object  of  a  man's  existence  should  be  would  in 
spite  of  all  efforts  mix  itself  with  his  algebra,  and 
form  an  extra  unknown  quantity,  still  more  elu 
sive.  He  tried  to  put  it  out  of  his  mind,  but  the 
captivating  air  castle  would  not  down.  Of 
course  Liddy  formed  a  central  figure  in  this 
phantom  dwelling,  and  to  such  an  extent  that  he 
hardly  dared  to  look  at  her  when  they  met  in  the 
recitation  room  for  fear  she  would  read  his 
thoughts.  Occasionally,  while  studying  he  would 
steal  a  look  across  the  schoolroom  at  her  well- 
shaped  head  with  its  crown  of  sunny  hair,  but 
her  face  was  usually  bent  over  her  book.  She 
had  always  treated  him  with  quiet  but  pleasant 
friendliness  at  school,  and  he,  understanding  her 
74 


Good  Advice. 

nature  by  degrees,  had  come  to  feel  it  would 
annoy  her  if  he  were  too  attentive.  His  new 
born  ambition  he  felt  must  be  absolutely  locked 
in  his  own  heart  for  many  years  to  come,  or  until 
some  vocation  in  life  and  the  ability  to  earn  a 
livelihood  for  two  could  be  won. 

For  the  entire  week  his  castle  building  trou 
bled  him  in  a  way,  as  a  sweet  delusion,  but  a 
detriment  to  study,  and  then  he  resolved  to  put 
it  away.  "It  may  never  come,  and  it  may,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "but  if  it  does  it  will  only  be  by 
hard  work."  He  had  never  felt  satisfied  to  be 
come  a  farmer  like  his  father,  but  what  else  to 
apply  himself  to  he  had  no  idea.  He  knew  this 
was  to  be  his  last  term  at  the  academy,  and  that 
he  must  then  turn  his  attention  to  some  real  occu 
pation  in  life.  He  had  been  in  the  habit  of  call 
ing  upon  Liddy  nearly  every  Sunday  evening  for 
the  past  year,  and  to  look  forward  to  it  as  the  one 
pleasant  anticipation  of  the  week.  He  felt  she 
was  glad  to  see  him,  and  what  was  of  nearly  as 
much  comfort,  that  her  father  was,  as  well.  He 
resolved  when  a  good  chance  came  to  ask  Mr. 
Camp's  advice  as  to  some  choice  of  a  profession. 

When  he  called  the  next  Sunday  evening, 
which  happened  to  be  chilly,  Liddy  met  him  with 
her  usual  pleasant  smile  and  invited  him  into  the 
75 


Pocket  Island. 

parlor,  where  a  bright  fire  was  burning.  She 
wore  a  new  and  becoming  blue  sacque,  and  he 
thought  she  never  looked  more  charming.  He 
had  usually  spent  part  of  the  evenings  in  the  sit 
ting-room  with  the  family,  but  this  time  he  felt 
he  was  considered  as  Liddy's  especial  company 
and  treated  as  such. 

"I  have  noticed  a  cloud  on  your  face  several 
times  the  past  week,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  they 
were  seated.  "Has  your  algebra  bothered  you, 
or  is  the  barn  dance  troubling  your  conscience?" 

"I  have  been  building  foolish  air  castles,"  he 
replied,  "for  one  thing,  and  trying  to  solve  a 
harder  problem  than  algebra  contains,  for  an 
other.  The  husking  dance  does  not  trouble  me. 
I  would  like  to  go  to  one  every  week.  Do  you 
feel  any  remorse  from  being  there?" 

"No,"  she  answered,  "I  do  not;  and  yet  I 
heard  this  week  that  some  one  over  in  town  who 
is  active  in  the  church  said  it  was  a  disgrace  to 
all  who  were  there.  I  wish  people  thought  dif 
ferently  about  such  things.  I  enjoyed  the  dance 
ever  so  much,  but  I  do  not  like  to  be  considered 
as  acting  disgracefully.  Do  you?" 

"I  presume  you  will  be  so  considered."  he  re 
sponded,  with  a  shade  of  annoyance  on  his  face, 
"if  you  go  to  dances  in  this  town.  I  wish  the 
76 


Good  Advice. 

busybodies  of  that  church  would  mind  their 
business." 

He  made  no  further  comment  regarding  the 
dance,  but  sat  looking  gloomily  at  the  fire. 

"What  ails  you  to-night  ?"  asked  Liddy,  finally 
breaking  the  silence ;  "you  seem  out  of  sorts." 

"I  am  all  right,"  he  replied,  with  forced  cheer 
fulness.  "I  have  been  trying  to  solve  the  prob 
lem  of  a  future  vocation  when  I  leave  school  next 
spring,  and  I  do  not  know  what  to  do." 

Liddy  was  silent.  Perhaps  some  intuitive  idea 
of  what  was  in  his  mind  came  to  her,  for,  al 
though  he  had  never  uttered  a  word  of  love  to 
her  except  by  inference,  she  knew  in  her  own 
heart  he  cared  for  her  and  cared  a  good  deal. 

"Come,  Charlie,"  she  said  at  last,  "don't  worry 
about  a  vocation  now.  It's  time  enough  to  cross 
bridges  when  you  come  to  them.  Do  you  know," 
she  continued,  thinking  to  take  his  mind  from 
his  troubles,  "that  I  have  discovered  why  Mr. 
Webber  does  not  like  me?  It's  simply  because 
I  do  not  flatter  him  enough.  I  have  known  for 
a  long  time  I  was  not  a  favorite  of  his,  and  now 
I  know  why.  You  know  what  a  little  bunch  of 
mischief  Alice  Barnes  is.  She  whispers  more 
than  any  other  girl  in  school,  and  makes  more 
fun  of  him,  and  yet  she  is  one  of  his  prime  favor- 
77 


Pocket  Island. 

ites.  Well,  one  day  last  week,  at  noontime, 
while  she  was  talking  with  three  or  four  of  us 
girls,  he  came  along,  and  she  up  and  asked  him 
if  he  wouldn't  read  'The  Raven'  the  next 
Wednesday  afternoon  when,  you  know,  we  all 
have  compositions,  and  then  she  winked  at  us. 
He  took  it  all  right,  and  you  ought  to  have  heard 
the  self-satisfied  way  in  which  he  said :  'Certain 
ly,  Miss  Barnes.  I  shall  be  very  happy  to  read 
it  for  you.'  The  way  he  strutted  across  the 
schoolroom  after  that!  Lida  Stanton  said  he 
reminded  her  of  a  turkey  gobbler." 

Manson  laughed. 

"Webber  doesn't  like  me,  either,"  he  said,  "and 
never  has  from  the  first.  I  don't  care.  I  came 
to  the  academy  to  learn,  and  not  to  curry  favor 
•with  him.  Willie  Converse  is  another  of  his  pets 
and  is  cutting  up  all  the  time,  but  he  never  sees 
it,  or  makes  believe  he  does  not." 

The  discussion  of  school  affairs  ended  here, 
for  even  Manson's  evident  dislike  of  the  princi 
pal  was  not  strong  enough  to  overcome  the  mood 
he  was  in.  He  sat  in  glum  silence  for  a  time, 
apparently  buried  in  deep  thought,  while  Liddy 
rocked  idly  in  her  low  chair  opposite.  The  crack 
ling  fire  and  the  loud  tick  of  the  tall  clock  out  in 
the  hall  were  the  only  sounds. 

78 


Good  Advice. 

At  last  he  arose,  and  going  to  the  center  table, 
where  the  lamp  stood,  he  took  up  a  small  da- 
guerrotype  of  Liddy  in  a  short  dress,  and  looked 
at  it.  The  face  was  that  of  a  young  and  pretty 
girl  of  ten,  with  big,  wondering  eyes,  a  sweet 
mouth,  and  hair  in  curls. 

"That  was  the  way  you  looked,"  he  said  fin 
ally,  "at  the  district  school  the  day  I  wrote  a 
painful  verse  in  your  album  and  you  gave  me  a 
lock  of  hair.  How  time  flies!" 

"You  are  in  a  more  painful  mood  to-night," 
responded  Liddy,  glad  to  talk  about  anything. 
"You  have  the  worst  case  of  blues  I  ever  saw ;" 
and  then  she  added,  after  a  pause,  and  in  a  low 
voice:  "It  makes  me  blue,  too." 

Manson  made  no  reply,  but  sat  down  again 
and  studied  the  fire.  The  little  note  of  sympathy 
in  her  voice  was  a  strong  temptation  to  him  to 
make  a  clean  breast  of  it  all ;  to  tell  her  there  and 
then  how  much  he  loved  her;  what  his  hopes 
were,  and  how  utterly  in  the  dark  he  was  as  to 
any  definite  plans  in  life.  The  thought  made 
his  heart  beat  loudly.  He  looked  at  Liddy, 
quietly  rocking  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  fire 
place.  A  little  touch  of  sadness  had  crept  into 
her  face,  and  the  warmth  of  the  fire  had  lent  an 
unusual  color  to  her  cheeks  and  a  more  golden 

79 


Pocket  Island. 

gleam  to  her  hair.  As  he  looked  at  the  sweet 
picture  his  courage  began  to  leave  him.  "No, 
not  yet,"  he  said  to  himself,  "she  will  think  me  a 
fool." 

"Let's  pop  some  corn,"  said  Liddy  suddenly, 
still  anxious  to  say  anything  or  do  anything  to 
break  what  seemed  to  her  his  unhappy  train  of 
thought;  "the  fire  is  just  right." 

She  waited  for  no  answer,  but  stepped  quickly 
into  the  kitchen  and  returned  with  a  long-han 
dled  popper,  three  small  ears  of  popcorn,  and  a 
•dish. 

"There,"  she  said,  cheerfully,  "you  hold  the 
popper  while  I  shell  the  corn.  I  am  going  to 
make  you  work  now,  to  drive  away  the  blues.  I 
believe  it's  the  best  medicine  for  you." 

There  is  no  doubt  she  understood  his  needs 
better  than  he  supposed,  for  with  the  popping  of 
the  corn  the  cloud  upon  his  face  wore  away. 
When  it  came  time  to  go  Liddy  rested  her  hand 
a  moment  on  his  arm  and  said,  in  a  low  voice : 
"Charlie,  we  have  known  each  other  for  a  good 
many  years,  and  have  been  very  good  friends.  I 
am  going  to  give  you  a  little  advice :  Don't  bor 
row  trouble,  and  don't  brood  over  your  future 
so  much.  It  will  shape  itself  all  in  due  time,  and 


80 


Good  Advice. 

you  will  win  your  way  as  other  men  have  done. 
I  have  faith  in  you." 

Her  brave  and  sisterly  words  cheered  him  won 
derfully,  and  when  he  had  gone  Liddy  sat  down 
a  moment  to  watch  the  dying  embers.  She,  too, 
had  felt  the  contagion  of  his  mood,  and  strange 
to  say,  his  hopes  and  fears  were  insensibly  merg 
ing  themselves  into  her  own.  She  watched  the 
fading  fire  for  a  full  half  hour,  absorbed  in  ret 
rospection,  and  then  lighting  a  small  lamp  and 
turning  out  the  large  one,  she  walked  down  the 
hall  and  upstairs  to  her  room. 

"I  wish  that  clock  wouldn't  tick  so  loud,"  she 
thought  as  she  reached  her  door,  "it  makes  the 
house  sound  like  a  tomb." 


81 


Pocket  Island. 
CHAPTER  X. 

HISTORY. 

FROM  the  time  Manson,  as  a  barefooted  boy, 
caught  trout  in  Ragged  Brook,  until  the  winter  of 
'62,  when,  a  sturdy  young  man  of  eighteen,  he 
had  fallen  deeply  in  love  with  Liddy  Camp,  a  few 
changes  had  taken  place  in  Southton.  Three 
different  principals  had  been  in  charge  of  the 
academy,  one  of  these,  a  Mr.  Snow,  being  very 
capable  and  universally  popular.  Later,  when 
Mr.  Webber  succeeded  to  that  position,  the  ques 
tion  of  popularity  may  have  been  considered  an 
open  one.  We  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say 
he  was  efficient,  however,  and  if  he  had  an  exag 
gerated  idea  of  his  own  importance,  it  was  in 
herited,  and  a  failing  that  neither  time  nor  ex 
perience  could  eradicate. 

The  two  worthy  dominies  continued  to  try  to 
convert  sinners  by  exhaustive  arguments  on  pre 
destination  and  infant  damnation,  but  strange  to 
say,  made  little  progress.  A  few  of  the  good 
townspeople  who  were  not  members  of  either 
82 


History. 

church,  as  well  as  some  that  were,  had  been  for 
many  years  reading  and  thinking  for  themselves, 
and  had  come  to  realize  that  the  dry  bones  of 
Calvinistic  argument  had  lost  their  force,  and 
that  the  Supreme  Being  was  not  the  merciless 
God  the  churches  had  for  years  depicted  him, 
but  rather  a  Father  whose  love  and  mercy  was 
infinite.  The  then  ultra-liberal  Unitarian  idea 
had  begun  to  spread  and  a  few  who  had  out 
grown  the  orthodox  religion  organized  a  Unita 
rian  Society,  and  built  a  modest  church  to  worship 
in.  Among  these  pioneers  in  thought  were  Lor- 
ing  Camp  and  Jesse  Olney,  the  latter  the  author 
of  some  of  the  best  school-books  then  used ;  a 
deep  thinker  and  a  leader  in  town  affairs.  There 
were  other  thinking  men,  of  course,  who  were 
prominent  in  this  new  movement,  but,  as  this 
simple  story  is  not  an  historical  narrative,  their 
names  need  not  be  mentioned.  This  new  church 
and  its  followers  of  course  incurred  the  con 
demnation  of  the  other  two,  especially  the  one 
led  by  Parson  Jotham,  who  exhausted  all  argu 
ment  and  invective  to  convince  his  hearers  that 
Unitarianism  and  sin  were  synonymous  terms, 
and  that  all  the  new  church  followers  were  surely 
slated  for  the  fiery  furnace.  So  vigorous  were 
his  utterances  in  this  connection,  and  so  explicit 
83 


Pocket  Island. 

his  description  of  the  fire  that  is  never  quenched 
and  the  torture  that  never  ends,  that  it  was  said 
some  of  his  hearers  could  smell  brimstone  and 
discern  a  blue  halo  about  his  venerable  white 
head.  One  of  his  favorite  arguments  was  to  de 
scribe  the  intense  joy  those  who  were  saved 
through  his  scheme  of  salvation  would  feel  when 
they  came  to  look  over  the  heavenly  walls  and  see 
the  writhing  agony  of  all  sinners  in  the  burning 
lake  below.  When  his  eloquence  reached  this  cli 
max  he  would  cease  pounding  his  open  Bible  and 
glare  over  the  top  of  his  tall  pulpit  at  the  assem 
bled  congregation,  in  the  hope,  perhaps,  of  discov 
ering  among  them  some  Unitarian  sinner  who 
could  thus  be  made  to  realize  his  doom. 

In  justice  to  Parson  Jotham  it  must  be  said  that 
his  intentions  were  of  the  best,  no  doubt,  but  his 
estimate  of  the  motive  forces  of  human  action  was 
too  narrow.  He  believed  the  only  way  to  win 
people  from  vice  to  virtue  and  good  conduct  was 
to  scare  them  into  it. 

In  spite  of  all  the  denunciations  of  the  other 
two  churches,  the  new  one,  though  feeble  at  first, 
slowly  increased  its  following.  To  this  one  with 
their  respective  parents,  came  Liddy  and  Man- 
son.  While  perhaps  not  mature  enough  to  un 
derstand  the  wide  distinction  between  Unitarian- 
84 


History. 

ism  and  Calvinism,  they  realized  a  little  of  the 
inexpressible  horror  of  Rev.  Mr.  Jotham's  the 
ories  of  infant  damnation  and  the  like,  and  were 
glad  to  hear  no  more  of  them.  Like  many  other 
young  people  to-day,  they  accepted  their  parents' 
opinions  on  all  such  matters  as  best  and  wisest. 

They  were  not  regular  in  their  church  attend 
ance,  either,  for  Liddy  could  not  always  leave  her 
invalid  mother,  and  occasionally  she  and  Manson 
found  a  drive  in  the  summer's  woods  or  a  visit 
to  the  top  of  Blue  Hill  more  alluring  than  even 
the  Unitarian  church.  Of  similar  tastes  in  that 
respect,  and  both  ardent  admirers  of  nature,  and 
loving  fields  and  flowers,  birds  and  brooks,  as  the 
lovers  of  nature  do,  they  often  worshipped  in 
that  broad  church.  Manson  especially,  who  had 
from  childhood  spent  countless  hours  alone  in  the 
forests  or  roaming  over  the  hills  or  along  the 
streams,  had  learned  all  the  lessons  there  taught, 
and  now  found  Liddy  a  wonderfully  sympathetic 
and  sweet  companion.  To  spend  a  few  quiet 
hours  on  pleasant  Sundays  in  showing  her  some 
pretty  cascade  where  the  foam-flecks  floated 
around  and  around  in  the  pool  below ;  or  a  dark 
gorge,  where  the  roots  of  the  trees  along  its  bank 
grew  out  and  over  the  rocks  like  the  arms  of 
fabled  gnomes,  was  a  supreme  delight  to  him. 
85 


Pocket  Island. 

He  knew  where  every  bed  of  trailing  arbutus  for 
miles  around  could  be  found;  where  sweet  flag- 
and  checkerberries  grew;  where  all  the  shady 
glens  and  pretty  grottoes  were,  and  to  show  her 
all  these  charming  places  and  unfold  to  her  his 
quaint  and  peculiar  ideas  about  nature  and  all 
things  that  pertain  to  the  woods  and  mountains 
delighted  his  heart- 
Since  the  evening  when  she  had  given  him  the 
wise  advice  not  to  cross  bridges  till  he  came  to 
them,  they  had  grown  nearer  together  in  thought 
and  feeling,  and  whether  in  summer,  when  they 
drove  in  shady  woods  or  visited  a  beautiful  wa 
terfall,  where  the  rising  mist  seemed  full  of  rain 
bows  when  the  sun  shone  through  it ;  or  in  win 
ter,  when  they  went  sleighing  over  the  hills,  after 
an  ice  storm,  and  were  breathless  with  admira 
tion  at  the  wondrous  vision,  no  words  or  declara 
tion  of  love  had  as  yet  passed  his  lips.  He  had 
vowed  to  himself  that  none  should  until  the  time 
came  when  he  had  more  than  mere  love  to  offer. 
Since  all  his  acts  and  words  showed  her  so  plainly 
what  his  feelings  were,  she  began  to  realize  what 
it  must  all  mean  in  the  end,  and  that  in  due  time 
he  would  ask  her  the  one  important  question  that 
contains  the  joy  or  sorrow  of  a  woman's  life.  As 
this  belief  began  to  grow  upon  her  it  caused  her 
86 


History. 

many  hours  of  serious  thought,  and  had  she  not 
discovered  in  her  own  heart  an  answering  throb 
of  love  it  is  certain  she  was  far  too  honorable  to 
have  allowed  his  attentions  to  continue. 

How  the  townspeople  viewed  the  affair  may  be 
gathered  from  a  remark  made  by  Aunt  Sally 
Hart,  the  village  gossip,  one  Sunday  at  church. 

"They  tell  me,"  she  said,  "that  young  Man- 
son's  keeping  stiddy  company  with  Liddy  Camp, 
and  they're  likely  to  make  a  match.  Wonder  if 
they'll  go  to  live  on  his  father's  farm,  or  what 
he  will  do?" 

As  Aunt  Sally  was  an  estimable  lady  of  uncer 
tain  age,  who,  never  having  had  a  love  affair  .of 
her  own,  felt  a  keen  interest  in  those  of  others, 
and  as  she  occupied  a  place  in  Southton  akin  to 
the  "personal  mention"  column  of  a  modern  so 
ciety  newspaper,  it  may  be  said  her  remark  was 
a  sufficient  reflex  of  public  opinion. 

When  there  were  any  social  gatherings  where 
they  were  invited,  he  was  by  tacit  consent  con 
sidered  as  her  proper  and  accepted  escort.  At 
the  academy  she  had  never  been  in  the  habjt  of 
discussing  her  private  affairs  with  her  mates,, 
and  so  perhaps  was  spared  what  might  have  be 
come  an  annoyance.  While  she  listened  to  much 
gossip,  she  seldow  repeated  it,  and,  by  reason  of  a 
87 


Pocket  Island. 

certain  dignified  reticence  among  even  her  most 
intimate  schoolgirl  friends,  no  one  felt  free  to 
tell  her  of  the  opinions  current  among  them  re 
garding  herself  and  Manson.  For  this  reason  a 
little  deviation  from  the  usual  rule,  made  one  day 
by  her  nearest  friend,  Emily  Hobart,  came  with 
all  the  greater  force. 

"Do  you  know,"  said  Emily,  when  they  were 
alone,  "it  is  common  talk  here  in  school  that  you 
and  Charlie  Manson  are  engaged  ?  Oh,  you  need 
not  blush  so,"  she  continued,  as  she  saw  the  color 
rise  in  Liddy's  face,  "everybody  says  so  and  be 
lieves  it,  too.  Shall  I  congratulate  you  ?" 

This  did  not  please  Liddy  at  all. 

"I  wish  everybody  would  mind  their  own  busi 
ness,"  she  said  with  a  snap,  "and  leave  me  to 
mind  mine." 

"Oh,  fiddlesticks,"  continued  Emily;  "what  do 
you  care?  He  is  a  nice  fellow,  and  comes  of  a 
good  family.  We  have  all  noticed  that  he  has 
no  eyes  for  any  other  girl  but  you,  and  never 
had.  They  say  he  fell  in  love  with  you  when  you 
wore  short  dresses." 

When  Liddy  went  home  that  night  she  held  a 

communion  with  herself.     So  everybody  believed 

it,  did  they?    And  she,  in  spite  of  her  invariable 

reticence,  was  being  gossiped  about,  was  she? 

88 


History. 

"I've  a  good  mind  never  to  set  foot  in  the  acad 
emy  again,"  she  said  to  herself. 

For  a  solitary  hour  she  was  miserable,  and  then 
the  reaction  came.  She  began  to  think  it  all 
over,  and  all  the  years  she  had  known  him  from 
his  boyhood  passed  in  review.  And  in  all  those 
years  there  was  not  one  unsightly  fact,  or  one 
hour,  or  one  word  she  could  wish  were  blotted 
out.  And  they  said  he  had  loved  her  from  the 
days  of  short  dresses!  Well,  what  if  he  had? 
It  was  no  disgrace.  Then  pride  came  in  and  she 
began  to  feel  thankful  he  had,  and  as  the  recol 
lection  of  it  all  came  crowding  into  her  thoughts 
and  surging  through  her  heart,  she  arose  and 
looked  into  her  mirror.  She  saw  the  reflection 
of  a  sweet  face  with  flushing  cheeks,  red  lips, 
bright  eyes,  and — was  it  possible !  a  faint  glisten 
ing  of  moisture  on  her  eyelashes! 

"Pshaw,"  she  said  to  herself  as  she  turned 
away,  "I  believe  I  am  losing  my  senses." 

The  next  two  days  at  school  she  barely  nodded 
to  him  each  day.  "At  least  he  shall  not  see  it," 
she  thought. 

When  the  next  Sunday  eve  came  she  dressed 
'herself  with  unusual  care,  and  as  it  was  a  cold 
night  she  piled  the  parlor  fireplace  full  of  wood 
and  started  it  early. 

89 


Pocket  Island. 

Then  she  sat  down  to  wait.  The  time  of  his 
usual  coming  passed,  but  there  was  no  knock  at 
the  door.  The  hall  clock  with  slow  and  solemn 
tick  marked  one  hour  of  waiting,  and  still  he  did 
not  come.  She  arose  and  added  fuel  to  the  fire, 
and  then,  taking  a  book,  tried  to  read.  It  was  of 
no  use,  she  could  not  fix  her  mind  upon  anything, 
and  she  laid  the  book  down  and,  crossing  the 
room,  looked  out  of  the  window.  How  cheerless 
the  snowclad  dooryard,  and  what  a  cold  glitter 
the  stars  seemed  to  have !  She  sat  down  again 
and  watched  the  fire.  The  tall  clock  just  outside 
the  parlor  door  seemed  to  say :  "Never — never — 
never !" 

She  arose  and  shut  the  door,  for  every  one  of 
those  slow  and  solemn  beats  was  like  a  blow  upon 
her  aching  heart.  Then  she  seated  herself  again 
by  the  dying  fire,  and  as  she  gazed  at  the  'fading 
embers  a  little  realization  of  what  woman's  love 
and  woman's  waiting  means  came  to  her.  When 
the  room  had  grown  chill,  she  lighted  her  lamp 
and  retired  to  her  chamber. 

"I  have  never  realized  it  before,"  she  said,  as 
she  looked  at  the  sad,  sweet  face  in  the  mirror. 
And  that  night  it  was  long  ere  slumber  came  to 
her  pillow. 


90 


War  Clouds. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WAR  CLOUDS. 

WHEN  Liddy  reached  her  desk  at  the  academy 
the  next  day  she  found  a  note  in  a  well-known 
hand  that  said : 

"My  father  was  very  ill.  I  could  not  call  last 
eve.  I  hope  to  next  Sunday." 

It  was  a  bitter-sweet  message.  At  times  during 
the  week  she  felt  her  face  burn  at  the  recollection 
of  how  disappointed  she  had  felt  the  previous 
Sunday  eve.  "I  am  a  fool  to  care,"  she  would  say 
to  herself,  and  then  when  she  caught  sight  of  his 
face  and  saw  the  cloud  resting  upon  it  she  felt 
puzzled.  She  had  asked  regarding  his  father's 
illness  and  learned  he  was  better,  so  the  ominous 
shadow  was  not  from  that  source.  She  felt  sure 
it  was  not  from  an  impending  declaration  of  love 
brewing  in  his  heart,  for  she  knew  him  well 
enough  to  feel  that  when  it  came  to  that,  he 
would  have  the  manly  courage  to  express  his 
feelings  in  his  usual  outspoken  way. 

When  Sunday  evening  came  again  she  awaited 
9J 


Pocket  Island. 

his  coming  with  a  new  anxiety,  and  when  he  ar 
rived  her  heart  felt  heavy.  He  greeted  her  as 
though  nothing  was  amiss,  and  began  chatting  in 
an  offhand  manner,  as  if  to  prevent  any  question 
from  her.  He  even  joked  and  told  stories,  but 
with  a  seeming  effort  «ad  not  in  accord  with  his 
feelings.  Liddy  watched  him  quietly,  feeling 
sure  he  was  acting  a  part  and  for  a  purpose.  The 
more  he  tried  to  dissemble,  the  deeper  became  her 
dread.  At  last,  when  the  chance  came,  she  said 
in  her  direct  way : 

"Charlie,  you  are  not  yourself  to-night,  and  I 
believe  you  have  some  serious  trouble  on  your 
mind.  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what  it  is." 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  before  replying,  and 
then  said : 

"Oh,  well,  perhaps  I  have;  but  please  don't 
notice  it.  I  do  not  like  to  talk  of  my  troubles 
here.  You  will  dislike  me  if  I  do." 

"I  shall  feel  hurt  if  you  do  not,"  she  answered. 

"Don't  say  that!"  he  replied;  and  then,  after 
looking  into  her  earnest  face  a  moment  he  con 
tinued  in  a  lower  tone:  "You  are  the  last  per 
son  in  the  world  I  would  knowingly  hurt." 

He  remained  silent  for  a  long  time,  looking  at 
the  fire  in  a  vacant  way,  and  then  rising  suddenly 
he  said : 

92 


I 

War  Clouds. 

"There  is  no  use;  I  can't  talk  to-night.  I  am 
out  of  sorts.  I  think  I  will  go  home." 

"No,  no,  Charlie,"  she  replied,  trying  hard  to 
keep  the  pain  out  of  her  voice :  "don't  go  yet !  It's 
too  early,  and  we  have  not  had  a  visit  for  two 
weeks.  Please  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it. 
Can't  you  trust  me  ?" 

He  remained  standing  and  looking  earnestly 
into  her  upturned  face  and  pleading  eyes  for  a 
few  moments  in  silence ;  then  he  said : 

"Yes,  I  can  trust  you,  Liddy,  and  I  am  not 
afraid  to,  either!  I  am  not  afraid  to  trust  you 
with  every  thought  and  impulse  that  ever  came 
to  me,  but  I  can't  bring  myself  to  hurt  you,"  and 
then  he  turned  away. 

His  words  almost  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes, 
but  she  kept  them  back.  When  he  had  his  oat 
on  and  was  at  the  door,  she  made  one  more  ef- 
fore.  She  clasped  his  arm  with  both  hands,  as  if 
to  hold  him,  and  said : 

"You  have  made  me  very  wretched,  Charlie! 
Don't  leave  me  in  suspense !  I  do  not  deserve  it. 
No  matter  what  it  is,  please  tell  me !" 

He  remained  silent,  but  with  one  hand  he  softly 
caressed  the  two  little  ones  that  clasped  his  arm. 
Then  as  her  face  sank  slowly  upon  them  he 
stooped  suddenly  and  kissed  her  hair.  "When  I 

93 


Pocket  Island. 

come  again  you  shall  know  all,"  he  whispered; 
"good-night !"  and  he  tore  himself  away. 

The  meadows  were  growing  green  and  the 
first  spring  violets  were  in  bloom  ere  he  called 
again. 

To  explain  his  strange  mood  a  little  history 
must  be  inserted  here. 

The  summer  and  fall  of  '6r  and  the  winter  and 
spring  of  '62  were  momentous  in  the  annals  of 
Southton.  Fort  Sumter  had  been  fired  upon,  and 
the  war  for  the  preservation  of  the  Union  had  be 
gun.  The  President's  first  call  for  volunteers  had 
been  issued;  the  Bull  Run  retreat  had  occurred, 
and  the  seven  days'  horror  of  the  Chickahominy 
swamp,  followed  by  the  battle  of  Fair  Oaks  and 
the  siege  of  Fredericksburg,  had  startled  the  coun 
try.  Secession  was  rampant,  and  Washington 
was  threatened.  The  second  call  for  volunteers 
had  come  and  the  entire  North  was  alarmed. 

In  the  spring  of  '62  came  the  third  call,  and  by 
that  time  the  spirit  of  patriotism  was  spreading 
over  Southton.  Captain  Samuel  Woodruff,  a 
born  soldier  and  a  brave  man,  began  to  raise  a 
company  in  that  town.  It  did  not  require  a  great 
effort,  for  the  best  and  bravest  of  her  sons  ral 
lied  to  his  call.  This  spirit  even  reached  the  old 
est  of  the  academy  boys,  and  was  the  cause  of 
94 


War  Clouds. 

Hanson's  strange  reticence  with  Liddy.  Among 
his  mates  were  many  who  openly  asserted  their 
intention  to  enlist.  Before  and  after  school  and  at 
noon  it  was  talked  about.  Some  were,  like  Man- 
son,  the  sons  of  peaceful  tillers  of  the  soil,  and 
others  the  sons  of  tradesmen,  but  all  were  ani 
mated  by  the  same  patriotic  spirit  and  that  was 
to  defend  their  country  in  her  hour  of  danger. 
The  example  of  a  few  became  contagious,  and 
seemed  likely  to  affect  all  the  young  men  of  the 
academy  of  suitable  age.  In  fact  it  did,  for  out 
of  about  thirty  that  were  old  enough,  eighteen 
finally  enlisted  and  went  to  war.  Were  it  not  that 
a  list  of  their  names  is  not  pertinent  to  the  thread 
of  this  narrative,  that  roll  of  honor  should  be  in 
serted  here,  for  it  deserves  to  be;  but  it  is  not 
necessary.  It  is  well  known  in  Southton,  and 
there  the  names  of  those  young  heroes  will  never 
be  forgotten. 

For  weeks  while  the  fever  of  enlistment  was 
spreading,  Manson  had  passed  through  serious 
mental  torture.  To  sign  the  possibly  fatal  roll 
or  not  to  sign  was  the  question!  He  dared  net 
tell  Liddy ;  he  dared  not  tell  his  parents.  An  only 
son,  and  one  whom  he  knew  his  father  loved,  he 
felt  torn  by  conflicting  duty.  Never  in  his  sim 
ple  life  had  he  passed  through  such  a  strugg1e. 
95 


Pocket  Island. 

Perhaps  pride  and  the  example  of  his  mates  were 
strong  factors  in  bringing  him  to  a  decision,  but 
he  reached  one  at  last,  and  upon  a  Saturday  c'ur- 
ing  the  latter  part  of  April  he  quietly  wrote  his 
name  upon  the  enlistment  paper  in  Captain  Wood  • 
ruff's  office,  and  the  deed  was  done. 

In  the  meantime,  and  for  the  few  weeks  in 
which  he  did  not  call,  Liddy  lived  in  an  agony  of 
suspense.  She  knew  what  was  going  on,  for  it 
was  current  gossip  in  school,  and  there  was  some 
thing  in  his  face  that  seemed  to  her  ominous.  Li 
school  she  tried  hard  to  act  unconcerned,  even 
when,  as  often  was  the  case,  other  giris  whoso 
young  and  loving  hearts  were  sore,  gave  way  to 
tears.  Each  day  she  smiled  and  nodded  to  him  as 
usual ;  but  the  smile  had  grown  pathetic,  and  into 
her  eyes  had  crept  a  look  of  dread.  He  saw  it  all. 
and  hardly  dared  speak  to  her.  Each  Sunday  eve 
she  dressed  herself  for  his  coming  and  watched 
the  fire  while  the  tall  clock  ticked  in  solemn  si 
lence.  She  dreaded  to  hear  her  father  speak  of 
the  war  news,  and  when  at  school  the  gossip  as 
to  who  had  or  who  was  going  to  enlist  was  re 
ferred  to  she  walked  away.  She  grew  silent  and 
morose,  and  clouds  were  on  her  face  at  all  times. 
There  were  plenty  of  sad  and  worried  looks  on 


96 


War  Clouds. 

other  girls'  faces  at  school  during  those  weeks,  so 
she  was  not  alone  in  her  gloom. 

Manson  had  felt  that  deep  down  in  her  heart 
she  cared  a  good  deal  more  for  him  than  her  con 
duct  showed,  and  to  tell  her  of  his  intentions  be 
fore  he  carried  them  out  would  be  to  subject  her 
to  needless  days  of  suspense  and  possibly  affect 
his  own  sense  of  duty.  Now  that  it  was  all  over, 
she  must  be  the  first  to  be  told,  and  how  much  he 
dreaded  it  only  those  who  have  passed  through 
the  same  experiences  can  tell.  He  scarcely  slept 
at  all  that  night,  and  when  he  presented  himself 
at  her  house  the  next  day,  just  before  church  time, 
he  looked  pale  and  haggard.  It  was  an  unusual 
thing  for  him  to  call  at  that  hour,  and  when  Liddy 
met  him  her  heart  sank.  Without  any  formality 
he  asked  her  to  put  on  her  wraps  and  take  a 
ride. 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you  all,"  he  said,  "and  I 
can  talk  better  away  from  the  house,  and  where 
we  are  alone." 

When  they  were  well  on  their  way  and  driving 
along  the  wooded  road  toward  the  top  of  one  of 
the  Blue  Hills — a  lookout  point  whence  all  South- 
ton's  area  could  be  seen — he  turned  his  face  and 
looked  at  hers  for  the  first  time  since  starting. 
What  he  saw  there  smote  his  heart. 
97 


Pocket  Island. 

"It's  a  nice  day  for  a  ride,  isn't  it,  Liddy  ?"  he 
said  pleasantly,  trying  hard  to  act  natural. 

Her  answer  was  peculiar. 

"I  can't  talk  of  the  day  or  anything  else,  Char 
lie,  till  I  know  the  worst.  Remember,  you  have 
kept  me  in  suspense  four  long,  weary  weeks.  Tell 
me  now  as  soon  as  you  can." 

He  made  no  reply,  and  spoke  not  another  word 
until  they  reached  the  lookout  place.  In  silence 
he  assisted  her  to  alight,  and  taking  the  carriage 
robe,  he  spread  it  upon  a  rock  where  they  had 
often  sat  viewing  the  landscape  below.  Then  he 
said,  in  a  low  voice : 

"Please  sit  down,  Liddy.  I've  fixed  a  nice  seat 
for  you,  and  now  I  can  talk  to  you." 

Then  their  eyes  met  for  the  second  time  since 
starting.  Her  face  and  lips  were  pale,  and  her 
eyes  full  of  fear.  She  clasped  her  hands  before 
her  face  as  if  to  ward  off  the  coming  blow. 

"Tell  me  now,"  she  said  hurriedly,  "tell  me  the 
worst,  only  tell  me  quickly !  I've  suffered  long 
enough !" 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  pityingly,  dreading 
to  deal  the  blow,  and  trying  to  frame  it  into  suit 
able  words — and  then  it  came. 

"Liddy,"  he  said  in  a  husky  whisper,  "I  love 
you,  and  I've  enlisted!" 
98 


War  Clouds. 

A  brief  sentence,  but  what  a  message! 

A  woman's  heaven  and  a  woman's  hell  in  six 
words ! 

For  one  instant  she  looked  at  him,  until  its 
full  force  came  to  her  and  then  she  burst  into 
tears,  and  the  next  moment  she  was  in  a  heap 
on  the  robe-covered  rock  and  sobbing  like  a  child. 
Instantly  he  was  beside  her,  gathering  her  in 
his  arms  and  kissing  her  hair,  her  tear-wet  face 
and  lips.  Not  a  word  was  spoken;  not  one  was 
needed!  He  knew  now  that  her  heart  was  his, 
and  for  weal  or  woe;  for  joy  or  sorrow,  their 
lives  must  be  as  one. 

"Don't  cry  any  more,  my  darling,"  he  whis 
pered  at  last.  "I  shall  come  back  all  safe,  and 
then  you  will  be  my  wife,  won't  you,  Liddy?" 

She  made  no  answer,  but  a  small,  soft  hand 
crept  into  one  of  his,  and  he  knew  his  prize  was 
won. 

When  they  were  ready  to  leave  the  hallowed 
spot  she  gathered  a  bunch  of  the  spring  violets 
growing  there,  and  kissing  them,  handed  the 
cluster  to  him  in  silence. 

Late  that  evening  when  they  parted  she  put  one 
arm  caressingly  about  his  neck  and  whispered : 
"Give  me  all  the  hours  you  can,  Charlie,  before 
you  must  go ;  they  may  be  all  we  shall  ever  have 
together." 

99 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A      DAY      IN      THE      WOODS. 

WHEN  schoolmates  who  have  studied  and 
played  together  until  almost  maturity  reach  the 
parting  of  their  ways  a  feeling  of  sadness  comes 
to  them ;  but  when  out  of  such  a  band  there  are 
eighteen  of  the  best  young  men  about  to  take  part 
in  the  horror  of  war,  the  occasion  becomes  doubly 
so.  The  last  few  weeks  passed  together  by  the 
graduating  pupils  of  Southton  Academy  came 
"back  to  them  in  after  years  much  like  the  mem 
ory  of  a  funeral.  There  were  no  frolics  at  noon 
time  or  after  school;  no  mirth  and  scant  laugh 
ter. 

A  few  of  the  girls  were  known  to  be  carrying 
aching  hearts,  and  it  was  whispered  that  two  or 
three  were  engaged  to  be  married  to  young  sol 
dier-boys  now  in  the  academy.  Liddy  wore  a 
new  and  heavy  plain  gold  ring,  and  when  ques 
tioned  as  to  its  significance  quietly  answered,  as 
was  her  wont :  "I  have  no  confessions  to  make," 
but  those  who  were  nearest  to  her  and  knew 
JOO 


A  Day  in  the  Woods. 

her  best  detected  a  proud  look  in  her  eyes  and 
drew  their  own  conclusions.  It  was  noticed  also 
that  she  and  Manson  were  seldom  apart  during 
the  noon  hour,  and  invariably  walked  away  from 
the  academy  together.  As  there  were  other  cou 
ples  who  thus  paired  off  it  caused  no  comment. 

When  the  last  day  came  the  academy  wa& 
packed  with  the  parents  and  friends  of  pupils, 
and  on  Liddy's  desk  was  a  bunch  of  June  roses. 
She  knew  whose  hand  had  placed  them  there. 
When  the  final  exercises  began  she  felt  herself 
growing  nervous.  She  had  never  felt  so  before^ 
but  now  the  mingled  joy  and  sorrow  of  the  past 
four  weeks  were  telling  upon  her.  There  were 
several  patriotic  and  warlike  recitations  by  the 
young  men,  and  readings  of  an  unusually  mel 
ancholy  nature  by  young  ladies,  all  of  which 
tended  to  make  matters  worse,  so  that  when  her 
turn  came  she  felt  ready  to  cry.  But  she  caught 
a  look  from  Manson  that  was  like  wine.  "He 
has  been  brave,"  she  thought ;  "I  will  be  as  much 
so" — and  she  was. 

When  the  exercises  were  over  the  principal 
made  a  brief  but  feeling  address  which  raised 
him  several  degrees  in  Hanson's  estimation,  and 
that  was  the  end.  Most  of  the  pupils  lingered, 
loth  to  utter  the  last  farewells,  but  finally  they 
JOJ 


Pocket  Island. 

were  spoken,  and  with  many  moist  eyes  among 
that  gathering  of  young  friends  they  separated. 
Some  of  them  never  met  in  life  again. 

The  few  remaining  evenings  ere  Liddy  and  her 
lover  were  to  part  were  not  wasted  by  them,  and 
the  last  Sunday  was  one  long  to  be  remembered. 

"Come  early,"  she  had  said  the  night  before; 
"I  have  a  little  surprise  for  you."  When  he  ar 
rived  at  her  house  that  day,  just  as  the  distant 
church  bells  were  faintly  calling,  he  found  her 
dressed  for  a  ride,  and  was  a  little  puzzled. 

"I  want  you  to  take  me  to  church  to-day,"  she 
said,  smiling,  and  then  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "to 
our  church  on  the  top  of  Blue  Hill,  where  there 
will  be  no  one  but  God  and  ourselves." 

It  was  an  odd  thought,  and  yet,  knowing  her 
as  he  did,  it  was  not  surprising.  The  simple  rev 
erence  of  it  touched  him,  however. 

"Now,"  she  continued  more  cheerfully,  "no 
more  sober  thoughts.  Let  us  try  and  be  happy, 
and  like  children  once  more.  Here  is  a  basket  I 
have  packed,  and  you  are  to  put  it  in  the  car 
riage.  We  are  to  dine  in  the  woods." 

The  day  was  one  of  those  rare  ones  that  come 

only  in  June,  and  when  they  reached  the  spot, 

now,  henceforth  and  forever  sacred  to  them,  the 

sheltering  trees  were  fresh  with  new  foliage,  the 

J02 


A  Day  in  the  Woods. 

birds  singing  while  building  their  nests,  the  sum 
mer  breeze  softly  whispering  in  the  scattered 
hemlocks,  and  over  all  shone  the  mellow  sun 
shine. 

For  a  long  time  they  sat  on  the  rock,  now  hal 
lowed  by  her  tears,  viewing  the  beautiful  land 
scape  spreading  out  below  and  living  over,  as 
they  had  many  times  before,  and  as  young  lovers 
will,  all  the  little  incidents  of  their  lives,  and 
what  a  marvelous  thing  it  was  that  they  had 
come  to  love  each  other.  It  was  all  a  story  as 
old  as  the  rock  upon  which  they  sat,  and  pure  and 
sweet  as  the  blue  violets  blooming  at  their  feet. 
In  the  midst  of  it  Manson  pointed  to  a  spot  in 
the  valley  below — a  cedar  pasture  with  an  im 
mense  boulder  in  the  middle — and  said:  "Once 
upon  a  time,  several  years  ago,  when  I  was  a 
boy,  I  was  picking  berries  in  that  field,  when  a 
little  girl  in  short  dress  and  calico  sun-bonnet 
came  running  down  a  path  near  me  until,  almost 
at  my  feet,  she  stumbled,  and  girl,  berries  and 
bonnet  went  sprawling  upon  the  ground!  Can 
you  guess  who  it  was?" 

Liddy  turned  her  face  toward  him  and  smil- 
ingly  answered:  "Was  that  the  way  I  entered 
your  heart,  Charlie?  It  wasn't  a  dignified  way, 
was  it?" 

J03 


Pocket  Island. 

"It  was  at  least  effective,"  he  replied,  "for  you 
have  remained  in  it  ever  since." 

When  the  sun  was  high  overhead  she  arose  and 
said,  with  bewitching  imperiousness :  "Now,  sir, 
you  have  been  idle  long  enough;  you  must  help 
me  set  the  table.  Bring  me  that  basket  in  the 
carriage." 

"If  we  are  to  begin  keeping  house  up  here," 
he  answered  cheerfully,  "perhaps  you  had  better 
wait  till  I  build  you  a  table." 

"I  shall  be  glad  if  you  can,"  she  said,  and 
watched  him  curiously  while  he  cut  small, 
straight  sticks,  and  then  larger  ones  with  forked 
ends.  These  he  drove  into  the  ground  under  a 
tree,  and  placing  one  stout  stick  to  connect  each 
of  the  forked  ones  and  form  supporting  ends,  laid 
the  others  across  and  close  together  to  make  the 
table.  He  then  placed  flat  stones  for  seats,  cov 
ering  them  with  the  carriage  cushions,  and  when 
all  was  done  he  said:  "My  dear,  your  table  is 
ready;  now  I  will  help  you  to  set  it." 

"I  am  glad  I  brought  a  tablecloth,"  she  re 
marked  smiling. 

When  the  dainty  little  banquet  board,  just 
lar^.e  enough  for  two,  was  covered  with  a  snow- 
white  spread  and  napkins,  plates,  knives  and 
forks,  and  all  the  attractive  results  of  her  culi- 
J04 


I 

A  Day  in  the  Woods. 

nary  art,  he  smiled,  for  the  tempting  food  would 
make  any  hungry  man  smile. 

"It's  not  an  elaborate  dinner,"  she  remarked, 
as  they  sat  down,  "but  you  must  get  used  to  my 
cooking  some  time,  and  you  might  as  well  begin 
now." 

When  the  sun  was  low  in  the  west  and  she  sat 
near  him  idly  weaving  flowers  into  the  band  of 
his  hat,  he  said:  "Liddy,  have  you  never  won 
dered  how  I  am  going  to  solve  the  vocation  prob 
lem  I  used  to  worry  about?" 

"No,"  she  answered  quietly,  "and  I  do  not  wish 
to  discuss  it,  either.  Remember,  we  are  children 
today."  Then  she  continued,  in  a  lower  tone : 
""I  have  trusted  you  with  my  heart,  my  life,  and 
all  the  happiness  I  can  ever  hope  for,  and  when 
the  time  comes  I  know  you  will  not  fail  me." 

"I  realize  what  it  all  means,"  he  answered, 
after  a  long  pause,  "and  you  can  trust  me,  for  so 
long  as  God  gives  me  strength  you  shall  have 
all  the  blessings  I  can  win  in  life." 

They  sat  in  silence  until  the  lowering  sun  had 
left  the  valley  in  shadow  and  smiled  only  on  the 
hilltop  where  they  lingered.  Perhaps  the  dread 
-parting  that  was  near  seemed  creeping  toward 
them  with  the  shades  of  night,  for  his  arm  stole 
softly  about  her  waist,  and  her  hand  crept  into 


Pocket  Island. 

his.  They  watched  until  the  last  ray  of  sunlight 
had  vanished,  and  when  they  arose  he  once  more 
gathered  her  close  in  his  arms  and  whispered: 

"Promise  me,  my  darling,  that  if  I  never  come 
back  you  will  visit  this  spot  alone,  once  a  year, 
in  June,  and  if  there  be  such  a  thing  as  a  life  be 
yond  the  grave,  I  will  be  here  in  spirit." 

"I  promise,"  she  answered  solemnly,  "and  no 
man  shall  ever  have  the  right  to  stop  me." 

When  they  were  ready  to  leave  the  place  he 
had  to  lead  her  to  the  carriage,  for  her  eyes  were 
blinded  by  tears. 


106 


I 

The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  GIRL  I  LEFT  BEHIND  ME. 

WITH  bayonets  flashing  in  the  sunlight,  with 
flags  flying  and  keeping  step  to  the  martial  music, 
Southton's  brave  Company  E  marched  full  one 
hundred  strong  to  the  depot  the  next  day,  ready 
to  leave  for  the  war. 

Almost  the  entire  town  was  there  to  see  them 
off,  and  hundreds  of  men,  old  and  young,  filled 
the  air  with  cheers.  Mingling  in  that  throng 
were  as  many  mothers,  wives,  sweethearts  and 
sisters  with  aching  hearts,  whose  sobs  of  anguish 
were  woven  into  the  cheering.  Strong  men  wept 
as  well.  As  the  train  rolled  away,  Manson 
fought  the  tears  back  that  he  might  not  lose  the 
last  sight  of  one  fair  girl  whose  heart  he  knew 
was  breaking.  When  it  was  all  over,  and  he  real 
ized  that  for  months  or  years,  or  perhaps  never, 
would  he  behold  her  again,  he  knew  what  war 
and  parting  meant.  He  had  obeyed  his  con 
science  and  sense  of  duty,  and  now  he  must  pay 
J07 


Pocket  Island. 

the  price,  and  the  payment  was  very  bitter.  Of 
his  future  he  knew  not,  or  what  it  might  hold  for 
him.  He  could  only  hope  that  when  his  hour  of 
trial  came  that  he  would  not  falter,  and  if  the 
worst  must  come  that  he  would  find  strength  to 
meet  it  as  a  soldier  should. 

War  is  such  a  ghastly,  hideous  horror,  and  so 
utterly  at  variance  with  this  simple  narrative, 
that  I  hesitate  to  speak  of  it.  There  can  be  no 
moments  of  happiness,  no  rifts  of  sunshine,  and 
but  few  gleams  of  hope  woven  into  the  picture. 
All  must  be  as  war  is — a  varying  but  continued 
succession  of  dreaded  horror  and  the  fear  of 
death.  The  first  month  of  Manson's  experience 
at  the  training  camp  was  hard  only  in  anticipa 
tion,  and  but  a  daily  round  of  duty  easily  per 
formed  and  soon  passed.  Liddy's  frequent  let 
ters,  each  filled  with  all  the  sweet  and  loving- 
words  that,  like  flowers,  naturally  spring  from  a 
woman's  heart,  cheered  him  greatly;  but  when 
the  order  came  to  go  to  the  front,  the  scene 
changed,  and  the  reality  of  war  came.  He  dread 
ed  the  first  shock,  not  so  much  from  fear  of 
death;  but  lest  his  courage  fail.  When  it  came 
at  Chancellorsville  it  was  all  over  before  he  knew 
it.  Although  under  fire  for  eight  hours,  he  was 
not  conscious  of  the  lapse  of  time  or  aught  else, 
(08 


The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me. 

except  that  he  obeyed  orders  and  loaded  and  fired 
with  the  rest;  forgetting  that  he  might  fall,  or 
whether  he  was  brute  or  human.  That  nigiit  he 
wrote  to  Liddy:  "We  have  had  our  first  battle, 
and  for  many  hours  I  forgot  even  you.  I  know 
now  that  I  shall  not  falter.  Poor  Luzerne  Nor 
ton,  one  of  our  academy  boys,  was  killed,  also 
three  others  from  our  company;  and  seven  were 
wounded." 

When  the  letter  reached  Liddy  her  heart  sank. 
To  know  that  one  of  her  bright  and  happy  school 
mates  of  a  few  months  before  had  been  shot  and 
killed,  and  others  wounded,  was  to  have  t*ie 
dread  reality  of  war  brought  very  near  home. 
''Thank  God  my  boy  was  spared,"  she  thought. 
That  night  she  wrote  him  the  most  loving  letter 
he  had  ever  received,  concluding  with:  "Be 
brave,  my  darling,  and  always  remember  that 
come  what  may  I  shall  keep  my  promise." 

Then  came  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  and  al 
though  his  company  escaped  with  only  a  few 
wounded,  it  was  here  he  first  realized  the  ghastly 
horror  of  a  battlefield  after  the  fight  is  over,  and 
how  the  dead  are  buried. 

.  When  his  next  letter  reached  the  sad-hearted 
one  at  home,  no  mention  was  made  of  this  expe 
rience,  and  when  she  wrote  asking  why  he  had 

£09 


Pocket  Island. 

never  told  her  how  a  battleground  looked,  or  any 
thing  about  it,  he  replied:  "Not  for  worlds 
would  I  tell  you  how  we  bury  the  dead,  or  how 
they  looked,  or  anything  of  the  sickening  details. 
Please  do  not  read  them  in  the  papers,  for  it  will 
do  you  no  good,  and  cause  you  needless  suffering. 
I  wish  to  keep  misery  from  you.  Think  of  me 
only  as  doing  my  duty,  and  try  to  believe  (as  I 
do)  that  I  shall  come  back  to  you  alive  and  well." 

For  the  next  six  months  he  had  no  battles  to 
face — only  skirmishing  and  picket  duty.  When 
Christmas  came  it  brought  him  two  boxes  of  good 
things  to  gladden  his  heart.  One  was  from  his 
dear  old  mother,  and  one  was  from  Liddy,  and 
tucked  away  in  that,  between  four  pairs  of  blue 
socks  knit  by  her  fair  hands,  was  a  loving  letter 
and  a  picture  of  herself. 

Almost  a  month  after  came  the  battle  of  Tracy 
City  and  the  fall  of  brave  Captain  Upson.  There 
were  others  wounded,  but  none  of  his  company 
were  killed.  It  was  here  Manson  received  his 
first  promotion  to  a  corporal's  position,  and  he 
was  afterward  made  sergeant.  In  the  spring  that 
followed,  and  almost  one  year  from  the  day  he 
first  told  Liddy  of  his  love,  came  the  battle  of 
Boyd's  Trail.  Five  days  after,  when  the  moon 
was  full  one  night,  he  wrote  by  the  light  of  a 

no 


The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me. 

camp  fire:  "Do  you  remember  one  year  ago  to 
day,  and  where  we  were  and  what  I  said  ?  I  lit 
tle  realized  that  day  what  was  in  store  for  me. 
One  thing  I  must  tell  you,  however,  and  that  is 
you  can  never  know  how  much  comfort  it  has 
been  to  me  to  live  over  all  the  happy  hours  we 
have  had  together.  Every  little  word  and  look  of 
love  from  you  has  come  back  to  me  again  and 
again  in  my  long,  lonesome  hours  of  picket  duty, 
and  to-night  as  I  sit  by  the  camp  fire  and  see  the 
moon  shining  through  the  trees  I  can  recall  just 
how  I  felt  the  first  time  I  kissed  you,  when  the 
same  moon  seemed  to  be  laughing  at  me.  Do  you 
remember  one  night  when  we  were  driving  across 
the  plains  on  our  way  back  from  a  little  party 
over  to  Marion,  and  you  sang  that  'Meet  Me  by 
Moonlight'  ballad?  That  was  three  years  ago, 
and  yet  I  can  almost  hear  your  voice  now." 

When  this  letter  reached  Liddy  she  read  it  in 
tears. 

For  the  next  year  it  was  with  Manson  as  with 
all  that  slowly  decreasing  company — one  unend 
ing  round  of  nervous  strain,  long  marches,  sharp 
fighting,  or,  worse  yet — carrying  the  wounded 
from  the  battlefield  and  burying  the  dead.  They 
lived  poorly,  slept  on  the  ground  or  in  the  mud 
at  times,  and  became  accustomed  to  filth  and 
\\\ 


Pocket  Island. 

stench,  indifferent  to  danger  and  hardened  to 
death.  When  a  comrade  fell  those  who  knew  him 
"best  said:  "Poor  fellow,  he's  gone,"  and  buried 
him  without  a  prayer;  but  the  dead  who  were 
personally  unknown  awakened  no  more  feeling 
than  so  many  leaves  fallen  by  the  wayside.  It 
could  not  well  be  otherwise,  for  such  is  war.  In 
dividual  cases  of  heroism  were  common  enough, 
and  passed  almost  unnoticed;  for  they  were  all 
t>rave  men  who  came  to  fight  and  die  if  need  be, 
and  no  less  was  expected. 

War  makes  strange  bedfellows,  and  forms  un 
expected  friendships.  It  was  after  the  battle  of 
Gettysburg,  when  the  Tenth  Army  Corps  re 
mained  in  camp  for  several  months,  and  one 
night  while  on  picket  duty,  that  Manson  met 
with  a  curious  adventure,  and  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  a  fellow-soldier  by  the  name  of 
Pullen,  belonging  to  a  Maine  regiment,  whose 
existence,  and  the  tie  thus  formed,  eventually  led 
to  a  sequence  of  events  of  serious  import.  The 
enemy  were  encamped  but  a  few  miles  away,  and 
that  most  dastardly  part  of  warfare,  the  firing 
upon  pickets  from  ambush,  was  of  nightly  oc 
currence.  Manson's  beat  that  night  was  over  a 
low  hill  covered  with  scrub  oak,  and  across  part 
of  a  narrow  valley,  through  which  wound  a  small, 


The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me. 

marsh-bordered  stream.  The  night  was  sultry, 
and  the  dampness  of  the  swamp  formed  in  a 
shallow  strata  of  fog,  filling  this  valley,  but  not 
rising  above  the  level  of  the  uplands.  To  add  to 
the  weirdness  of  his  surroundings,  the  thin  cres 
cent  of  a  new  moon  threw  a  faint  light  over  all 
and  outlined  the  winding  turns  of  this  mist-filled 
gorge.  Away  to  the  northward  a  belt  of  dark 
clouds  emitted  frequent  flashes  of  heat  lightning, 
and  occasional  sharp  reports  along  the  line  be 
spoke  possible  death  lurking  in  every  thicket. 
Keeping  always  in  shadow,  and  oft  pausing  to 
listen,  Manson  slowly  traversed  his  beat,  waiting 
only  at  either  end  to  exchange  a  whispered  "All's 
well !"  with  the  next  sentry. 

What  a  vigil!  And  what  a  menace  seemed 
hidden  behind  every  bush  or  spoke  in  every 
sound !  The  faint  creak  of  a  tree  as  the  night 
wind  stirred  the  branches ;  the  rustle  of  leaves  on 
the  ground  or  the  breaking  of  a  twig  as  some 
prowling  animal  moved  about;  the  flight  of  a 
bird,  disturbed  at  its  rest ;  the  hoot  of  an  owl  on 
the  hillside  or  the  croak  of  a  frog  in  the  swamp 
were  all  magnified  tenfold  by  the  half-darkness 
and  the  sense  of  danger  near.  One  end  of  his 
beat  ended  at  the  brook  and  here  he  waited  long 
est,  for  the  sentry  he  met  there  was,  like  himself, 


Pocket  Island. 

hardly  out  of  his  teens,  and  unused  to  war.  A 
bond  of  fellowship  sprang  into  existence  almost 
at  sight,  and  made  them  brothers  in  feeling  at 
at  once. 

It  was  while  whispering  together  beside  this 
brook,  and  oppressed  by  the  suspense  of  night  and 
danger  near,  that  they  detected  a  sound  of  more 
than  usual  ill-omen,  and  that,  the  certain  one  that 
some  creature  had  stepped  into  the  stream  above, 
and  was  cautiously  and  slowly  wading  in  it. 
Hardly  breathing,  and  bending  low,  the  better  to 
catch  every  sound  that  came,  they  listened  with 
beating  hearts  until  it  ceased.  Once  they  had  de 
tected  the  click  of  stones  striking  together  as  if 
moved  by  a  human  foot  and  twice  caught  the 
faint  plash  of  a  bush  or  limb  of  tree  dropping 
into  the  water.  Then  the  sounds  ceased,  and  only 
the  faint  murmur  of  that  slow-running  stream 
disturbed  the  silence. 

For  a  few  moments  they  waited  there,  and  then 
together  crept  up  out  of  the  gorge.  Just  as  they 
emerged  from  the  pall  of  the  fog,  and  where  the 
moon's  thin  disk  still  outlined  that  narrow  white- 
blanketed  valley,  they  paused,  looking  across, 
above,  below  and  all  around,  and  listening  as  in 
tently  as  two  human  beings  so  environed  would 
when  believing  danger  near.  And  as  they  looked 


The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me. 

and  listened  for  moments  that  seemed  hours,  sud 
denly,  scarce  five  rods  away,  they  paw  a  man 
slowly  emerged  from  the  bush-covered  bank, 
rapidly  cross  this  narrow  gorge,  apparently  walk 
ing  on  the  fog,  and  disappear  in  the  dark  thicket 
on  the  other  side ! 

Forgetting  in  the  first  shock  of  supernatural 
added  to  natural  fear  that  they  stood  fully  ex 
posed  in  the  faint  moonlight,  they  looked  at  each 
other,  while  a  cold  chill  of  dread  seemed  to  check 
even  the  power  to  think.  Manson  was  the  first 
to  recover,  and  with  a  quick,  "We  must  hide," 
almost  hissed,  dropped  on  all  fours  behind  a  bush, 
followed  by  his  comrade.  That  the  motion  be 
trayed  them  to  watchful  eyes  is  certain,  for  the 
next  instant,  out  from  the  dark  thicket  across  the 
gorge  there  leaped  a  flash  of  red  fire,  and  the.  ping 
of  a  bullet,  cutting  leaves  and  twigs  above  them, 
told  its  own  tale.  Too  scared  to  think  of  return 
ing  the  fire,  or  conscious  that  to  do  so  was  un 
wise,  they  slowly  crawled  deeper  into  the  scrub 
and  along  the  top  of  the  hillock.  All  that  night 
they  kept  together,  and  how  long  it  was  until  the 
.gray  light  of  coming  dawn  lifted  a  little  of  their 
burden  of  fear,  no  one  who  has  never  skulked 
along  a  picket  line  in  darkness  and  dread  cart 
imagine ! 

U5 


Pocket  Island. 

When  the  relief  guard  came,  Manson  and  his 
mate  tried  to  discover  where  their  night-prowling 
enemy  had  crossed  that  narrow  gorge,  if  he  had 
crossed  at  all,  but  could  not.  Whether  ghost,  or 
shadow,  or  flesh-and-blood  enemy  had  walked  on 
fog  in  the  faint  moonlight  before  them,  they 
could  not  tell,  and  never  afterward  were  they 
able  to  determine.  The  only  certain  fact  was 
that  some  one  had  fired  at  them,  and  fired  mean 
ing  to  kill !  Wisely,  too,  they  agreed  to  keep  the 
ghost  part  of  that  experience  a  secret,  and  none 
of  their  comrades  ever  knew  they  had  seen  a 
man  walking  upon  the  fog. 


lit 


:; 

Beside  the  Camp  Fire. 
/•* 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

BESIDE      THE      CAMP      FIRE. 

BOTH  Manson's  and  Pullen's  regiments  were 
encamped  along  the  edge  of  a  belt  of  pine  woods, 
and  after  their  creepy  experience  together  on 
picket  duty,  they  naturally  sought  each  other  as 
often  as  possible.  There  is  a  'witching  romance 
lingering  about  a  camp  fire  in  the  woods  that 
stimulates  the  imagination,  and  when  these  two 
newly  made  friends  could  meet  for  an  evening's, 
visit  beside  theirs,  many  a  tale  of  youthful  ex 
perience  and  boyish  escapade  was  exchanged. 

"Speaking  of  ghosts,"  said  Manson,  one  even 
ing,  "I  do  not  believe  in  their  existence  exact'y, 
and  yet  there  is  a  strange  fascination  about  t\\c 
idea  that  I  can't  understand.  Now  T  do  not  be- 
iieve  we  saw  a  man  walking  on  fog  the  other 
night,  and  yet  I  can't  resist  the  desire  to  hunt 
the  matter  out  and  discover  what  sort  of  an  op 
tical  illusion  it  was.  I  am  not  at  all  certain  the 
man  who  took  a  shot  at  us  was  the  one  we  saw 
across  the  ravine,  either.  I  had  an  experience 


Pocket  Island. 

once  when  I  was  about  nine  years  old,  that,  in  a 
way,  tainted  my  mind  with  the  ghost  idea,  and 
perhaps  that  is  the  reason  why  the  possibility  of 
seeing  one  affects  me  in  the  way  it  does.  A 
couple  of  miles  from  the  farm  where  I  was 
reared  there  stood  an  old  deserted  ruin  of  a  house 
known  as  the  Tim  Buck  place.  It  was  hidden 
away  behind  hills  and  woods  and  reached  from 
the  highway  through  a  half-mile  lane,  thick 
grown  with  bushes.  Here,  years  before  I  was 
born,  there  had  once  lived  a  man  by  the  name 
of  Buck,  who  hanged  himself  in  the  garret  one 
day,  while  his  wife  was  away.  It  was  said  she 
came  back  just  at  dusk  and  found  him  hanging 
lifeless  from  a  rafter  in  the  garret.  What  be 
came  of  her  I  never  knew,  but  no  one  ever  lived 
on  the  place  afterward,  and  in  time  the  farm  and 
house  reverted  to  the  town  for  taxes.  It  also 
soon  obtained  the  reputation  of  being  haunted, 
and  no  one  ever  went  near  it  after  dark.  A 
couple  of  'coon  hunters  told  how  they  had  taken 
refuge  in  it  from  a  sudden  shower  at  night,  but 
left  in  a  hurry  when  they  heard  some  one  walk 
ing  on  the  chamber  floor  above.  Some  one  else 
said  they  had  seen  a  white  figure  walking  on  the 
ridge-pole  just  at  dusk.  All  this  was  current 
gossip  in  the  town,  and  believed  by  many. 

ns 


I 

Beside  the  Camp  Fire. 

"My  parents  had  sense  enough  not  to  tell  me, 
but  when  I  was  old  enough  to  be  sent  to  the  dis 
trict  school,  I  heard  all  this,  and  more,  too;  and 
the  worst  of  it  was  I  believed  all  I  heard.  I  had 
never  been  near  the  house,  but  when  I  heard  the 
stories,  I  got  another  boy  for  company  and  went 
to  look  at  it  from  the  top  of  a  near-by  hill.  As  I 
grew  older  the  fascination  of  the  place  kept  in 
creasing,  and  one  day  it  overcame  my  fear  and 
all  alone  I  paid  it  a  visit. 

"The  house  was  a  ruin — roof  fallen  in,  floor 
rotted  away  and  pitched  into  the  cellar :  only  the 
walls  were  standing,  and  the  beams  and  rafters, 
like  the  ribs  of  a  skeleton,  still  in  place.  I  re 
member  the  well-sweep  was  in  the  usual  posi 
tion,  and  seemed  to  me  like  a  warning  finger 
pointing  at  the  bleaching  rafters.  It  took  me  a 
good  half  hour  to  muster  courage  enough  to  go 
within  ten  rods  of  the  ruin,  but  I  finally  did,  and 
at  last,  scared  half  to  death,  and  trembling,  found 
myself  peeping  in  at  one  window.  It  was  dark 
in  there  and  smelt  queer,  and  I,  a  nine-year-old 
boy,  fully  expected  to  see  some  new  and  horrible 
spook  appear  at  any  moment.  How  long  I  stood 
there  I  never  knewz  for  I  forgot  all  else  except 
the  belief  that  if  I  waited  long  enough  I  should 
see  something  queer.  I  did,  too,  for  all  at  once 


Pocket  Island. 

I  saw  in  an  inner  room,  where  a  closet  door  stood 
half  open,  a  white,  bony  hand  reach  out  from  be 
hind  it,  take  hold,  and  seemingly  shut  that  door 
from  the  inside!  I  didn't  wait  any  longer,  you 
may  be  sure,  and  never  stopped  running  until  I 
came  in  sight  of  home,  two  miles  away !" 

"And  didn't  you  ever  go  back  there  ?"  said  Pul- 
len,  "when  you  got  older?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  did,  but  not  for  a  year  after,  and 
during  that  year  I  dreamed  of  that  house  and  one 
or  a  dozen  skeleton  hands,  countless  times.  Fin 
ally  I  mustered  up  spunk,  went  there  one  day  alt 
alone,  set  the  old  ruin  on  fire,  and  then  ran  as 
fast  as  my  legs  would  carry  me  to  a  hilltop  half 
a  mile  away,  and  stood  and  watched  the  fire. 
The  place  was  so  hidden  away  no  one  saw  it  burn 
except  me,  and  I  never  told  for  fear  of  conse 
quences." 

"And  did  you  ever  outgrow  the  belief  that 
you  really  saw  a  skeleton  hand  open  that  door?'" 
said  Pullen,  reaching  forward  to  pick  up  an  em 
ber  and  light  the  pipe  he  had  just  refilled. 

Manson  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  as  he 
lay  resting  his  head  on  one  hand  and  watching 
the  firelight  play  hide-and-seek  among  the  pine 
boughs  overhead. 

"No,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Frank,"  he  replied 

J20 


Beside  the  Camp  Fire. 

at  last,  slowly,  "I  do  not  think  I  ever  did.  Of 
course,  I  know  I  did  not  see  what  I  thought  I 
did,  and  yet  I  have  not  quite  outgrown  the  scare. 
I  won't  admit  that  I  believe  in  ghosts,  and  yet  the 
thought  of  them,  owing  perhaps  to  that  boyhood 
fright,  has  a  sort  of  deadly  fascination  for  me.  I 
believe  and  yet  I  do  not  believe,  and  if  I  were 
told  I  could  see  one  by  going  anywhere,  no  mat 
ter  how  grewsome  the  spook  was,  I  could  not  re 
sist  going." 

"You  ought  to  have  lived  where  I  came  from," 
observed  Pullen,  looking  curiously  at  his  com 
rade  ;  "for  about  twenty  miles  from  my  home  is 
an  island  known  as  'The  Pocket/  that  is  fairly 
swarming  with  ghosts." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  Manson,  suddenly  in 
terested. 

"Well,  it  is  a  long  yarn,"  replied  Pullen,  "but, 
from  your  make-up,  the  island  is  just  such  a 
spot  as  you  would  enjoy  visiting.  As  I  told  you 
the  other  night,  I  was  born  and  brought  up  on 
an  island  off  the  coast  of  Maine,  and  when  I  was 
quite  a  lad  I  first  heard  about  this  island,  and 
that  no  one  ever  went  there  because  it  was  haunt 
ed.  I  wasn't  old  enough  to  understand  what  be 
ing  haunted  meant,  but  later  on  I  did.  They  used 
to  tell  about  it  being  a  hiding-place  for  smug- 
J2J 


Pocket  Island. 

glers  before  I  was  born,  and  that  a  murder  had 
been  committed  there  and  that  some  one  in  a 
fishing  boat  had  seen  a  man  fully  ten  feet  tall, 
standing  on  a  cliff  on  it,  one  night.  Dad,  who 
was  a  sea  captain,  used  to  laugh  at  all  this,  and 
yet  almost  everybody  believed  there  was  some 
mystery  connected  with  it.  Another  thing,  I 
guess,  helped  give  it  a  bad  name  was  the  fact 
that  a  ship  was  wrecked  on  it  once,  and  no  one 
discovered  it  until  long  after,  and  then  they 
found  four  or  five  skeletons  among  the  rocks. 
Another  queer  thing  about  this  island  that  is 
really  a  fact  is,  that  any  time,  day  or  night,  you 
can  hear  a  strange,  bellowing  sound  like  that  of 
a  mad  bull,  coming  from  somewhere  on  it.  When 
there  is  a  storm  you  can  hear  it  for  miles  away. 
The  sound  can't  be  located  anywhere,  and  yet 
you  can  hear  it  all  the  time.  If  you  are  one  side, 
it  seems  to  come  from  the  other,  and  go  around 
to  that  side  and  it  is  back  where  you  came  from. 
Inside  the  island  is  a  circular  pocket  or  walled- 
in  harbor,  like  the  crater  of  a  volcano,  that  is  en 
tered  through  a  narrow  passage  between  two 
cliffs.  Altogether  it's  a  curious  place,  but  as  for 
ghosts — well,  I've  been  there  many  a  time  and 
never  saw  one  yet.  But  then,  I  do  not  believe  in 
spooks,  and  perhaps  that  accounts  for  it.  It's 
J22 


\ 

Beside  the  Camp  Fire. 

like  the  believers  in  spiritualism,  that  can  readily 
see  their  dead  ancestors'  faces  peering  out  of  a 
cabinet,  and  all  that  sort  of  bosh,  but  I  never 
could.  I'll  bet,"  with  a  laugh,  "that  you  could 
go  to  Pocket  Island  and  see  ghosts  by  the  dozen." 

"I  would  like  to  go  there,"  replied  Mar.son 
quietly,  "and  if  we  ever  get  home  alive,  I  will." 

"Come  and  make  a  visit,  and  I'll  take  you 
there,"  said  Pullen;  "that  is"  (soberly)  "if  I  ever 
go  home." 

The  story-telling  ceased  while  the  two  friends 
each  thinking  of  the  same  thing,  gravely  watched 
the  slowly  fading  fire. 

"Come,"  said  Pullen  at  last,  "quit  thinking 
about  what  may  happen,  and  tell  me  another 
ghost  story.  It's  your  turn  now." 

But  Manson  was  silent,  for  the  story-telling 
mood  had  fled,  and  his  thoughts  were  far  away. 

"Where  are  you  now?"  continued  Pullen, 
studying  his  comrade's  face.  "With  sons  girl, 
I'll  bet;  am  I  right?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Manson  slowly,  "I  was  with 
some  one  just  then,  and  thinking  of  a  fool  prom 
ise  I  exacted  from  her  before  I  left,  and  all  this 
ghost-story  telling  has  made  me  realize  what  an 
injury  I  may  have  done  her  by  exacting  that 
promise." 

J23 


Pocket  Island. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Pullen,  "I  can  sympathize  with 
you,  for  I,  too,  have  a  girl  I  left  behind  me." 

"Well,"  came  the  answer  slowly,  "this  girl  has. 
too  much  good  sense  to  believe  in  ghosts,  and 
yet,  you  can't  ever  tell  who  does  or  does  not  be 
lieve  in  them.  The  foolish  part  of  it  is  that  I  took 
her  to  a  lonely  spot  away  in  the  woods  one  day, 
before  I  left,  and  asked  her  to  promise  me  that 
in  case  I  never  came  back  she  would  visit  this 
spot  alofie  once  a  year,  on  that  same  day,  and  if  I 
was  in  spirit  I  would  appear  to  her,  or  at  least  if 
there  was  any  such  thing  as  spirit  life,  I  would  be 
there,  too.  She  is  one  of  those  'true  blue'  girls 
would  keep  such  a  promise  as  long  as  she  lived,. 
I  think;  and  now  you  understand  what  a  fool 
promise  it  was." 

"I  can't  dispute  you,"  answered  Pullen,  and 
then  they  separated. 


124 


Mysteries, 


CHAPTER    XV. 

MYSTERIES. 

"Do  you  know,  Frank,"  said  Manson,  a  week 
later,  as  once  more  the  two  lounged  beside  their 
camp  fire,  "that  I  have  the  hardest  kind  of  a  task 
to  keep  myself  from  believing  in  omens,  and  es 
pecially  the  'three  warnings'  business?  Now,  to 
illustrate,  we  lost  a  man  out  of  our  company  two 
nights  ago,  and  he  was  shot  within  ten  feet  of 
where  you  and  I  stood  the  night  we  were  shot 
at.  His  name  was  Bishop,  and  an  old  schoolmate 
of  mine.  I  was  on  the  morning  guard-mount  de 
tail,  and  was  the  first  one  to  see  him  as  we  were 
going  along  the  picket  line.  He  had  been  shot 
in  the  head,  and  most  likely  never  knew  what  hit 
him.  To  make  the  fate  of  Bishop  more  impress 
ive  his  going  on  for  night  duty  instead  of  myself 
had  been  decided  by  chance." 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  said  Pullen.  "It  was  his 
bad  luck  and  not  yours  that  time,  wasn't  it  ?  That 
fact  ought  to  drive  away  your  presentiments  in 
stead  of  increasing  them,  my  boy." 

J25 


Pocket  Island. 

"Perhaps,  and  yet  it  doesn't,"  replied  Manson. 
"It  keeps  crowding  me  into  the  belief  that  I  am 
booked  for  the  same  fate  in  the  near  future,  and, 
do  all  I  can,  I  can't  put  that  idea  away." 

"Nonsense,"  put  in  Pullen,  "that  is  all  bosh, 
and  in  the  same  list  with  the  Friday  business,  and 
seeing  the  moon  over  your  left  shoulder,  and  all 
that  string  of  superstition  that  has  come  down  to 
us,  or  rather,  up  to  us  from  the  Dark  Ages,  when 
mankind  believed  in  no  end  of  hobgoblin  things." 

"Say,  Frank,  don't  you  believe  in  luck?"  in 
terposed  Manson.  "Don't  you  believe  there  is 
such  a  thing  as  good  or  ill  luck  in  this  world,  and 
that  one  or  the  other  follows  us  most  of  the  time 
all  through  life?" 

"Yes,  to  a  certain  extent  I  do,"  answered 
Frank.  "But  I've  noticed  that  good  luck  comes 
oftenest  to  those  who  put  forth  the  greatest  ef 
fort,  and  ill  luck  is  quite  apt  to  chase  those  who 
are  seemingly  born  tired." 

Manson  was  silent,  for  the  wholesome  opti 
mism  of  his  friend  went  far  to  dispel  his  grew- 
some  imaginings. 

"How  does  a  mystery  you  can't  understand 
affect  you,  Frank  ?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Oh,  as  for  that,  if  I  can't  find  some  solution 
for  it  easily  I  put  it  away  and  think  of  some  other 
J26 


Mysteries. 

matter.  Life  is  too  short  to  waste  in  trying  to> 
solve  all  we  can't  understand.  And  speaking  of 
mysteries,"  continued  Frank,  "you  ought  to  have 
ben  born  and  brought  up  where  I  was,  on  art 
island  off  the  coast  of  Maine.  There  is  more 
mystery  to  the  square  mile  down  that  way,  I  be 
lieve,  than  anywhere  else  in  the  world,  unless  it 
be  Egypt.  There  is  a  little  village  called  Pema- 
quid,  where  they  fence  it  in  and  charge  an  ad 
mission.  I  know  of  a  dozen  places  where  there 
are  old  Indian  villages ;  old  fort  sites ;  old  burial- 
places  that  fairly  bristle  with  mystery!  If  you, 
go  anywhere  near  them  the  natives  will  ask  you 
to  go  and  look  at  this  spot,  or  that,  and  act  as  if 
they  expected  you  to  take  off  your  hat  while  they 
tell  all  about  it  in  an  awed  whisper.  Oh,  we 
have  mystery  to  burn  down  in  Maine!  Maine 
would  just  suit  you,  Manson!  There  isn't  arc 
island  on  the  coast,  a  lake  or  mountain  in  the  in 
terior  that  hasn't  got  a  fairy  tale,  or  some  legend 
connected  with  it.  You  remember  what  I  told? 
you  about  Pocket  Island  the  other  night?  Well, 
that  is  a  fair  sample.  And  speaking  of  fairy 
tales,  there  is  a  curious  one  current  down  our 
way  about  a  Jew  and  an  Indian  who  were  known 
to  be  smugglers  and  came  and  went  in  a  mys 
terious  way.  They  sailed  a  small  sloop  called  the 

m 


Pocket  Island. 

Sea  Fox,  and,  according  to  the  stories,  this  Jew 
was  one  of  the  most  adroit  villains  ever  born 
with  a  hooked  nose.  Where  he  hailed  from  the 
devil  only  knew,  and  he  never  told,  and  when 
after  he  had  mystified  everybody  for  two  years, 
smuggled  liquor  by  the  boatload  all  the  time  with 
out  getting  caught  once,  he  mysteriously  disap 
peared,  and  left  the  entire  coast  guessing.  Ac 
cording  to  the  stories,  and  there  are  hundreds 
told  about  him,  he  was  the  smoothest  Sheeney 
that  ever  swore  by  Moses.  Dozens  of  constables 
were  on  the  watch  for  him ;  his  sloop  wa* 
searched  many  times ;  every  one  believed  he  was 
smuggling  liquor  all  the  time  and  yet  no  one  ever 
caught  him.  All  this  happened  when  I  was  a 
boy,  and  yet  to-day  no  one  sees  a  small  tops'l 
sloop  gliding  into  some  uninhabited  cove  that 
they  don't  say  'There  goes  the  Sea  Fox.' " 

"And  did  no  story  ever  crop  out  regarding 
what  became  of  him,  or  where  he  went  to?"  in 
quired  Manson. 

"Not  a  word  or  whisper;  that  is  where  the 
mystery  lies,  and,  as  I  said,  it  is  one  more  added 
to  the  large  stock  we  already  have." 

"I  would  love  to  spend  a  month  down  your 
way,  Frank,"  said  Manson,  after  a  pause. 

"And  why  not?"  replied  Pullen.  "I've  a  good 
J23 


Mysteries. 

boat,  plenty  of  time,  and  when  we  get  out  of  this 
scrape  I  would  be  more  than  glad  to  have  you 
visit  me.  I  will  take  you  all  around  among  the 
islands  and  show  you  all  the  mysteries,  even 
Pocket  Island,  and  who  knows  but  we  may  run 
across  the  Sea  Fox?  Promise  me  to  come,  will 
you?" 

"Yes,  if  ever  I  get  back  alive  I  will,"  answered 
Manson. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  pleasant  chat  that 
there  occurred  another  episode  in  Manson's  war 
experience  that  had  a  peculiar  effect  upon  his 
imagination,  and  one  that  perhaps  will  illustrate 
the  pathos  of  war  as  well  as  any. 

"We  do  not  pause  to  think  what  we  are  about 
to  do  when  we  are  marched  into  battle,"  he  said 
to  his  friend  Frank  the  day  after  it  happened; 
"we  are  under  orders  to  kill  if  we  can,  and  the 
smell  of  smoke,  the  roar  of  guns,  and  the  awful 
horror  of  it  all  deadens  every  sense  except  the 
brutal  one  to  shed  blood.  But  to  deliberately 
shoot  an  enemy,  even  though  you  know  he  is  only 
waiting  to  shoot  you,  is  another  matter.  I  had 
to  do  it  yesterday  morning,  however,  and  how 
"miserable  I  have  been  ever  since,  no  one  can 
imagine.  As  you  know,  the  Rebs  have  been 
shooting  pickets  off  and  on,  for  two  weeks,  and 
129 


Pocket  Island. 

orders  have  been  issued  to  shoot  at  sight  and 
ask  no  questions.  I  had  been  on  the  line  all 
night  and  was  so  dead  tired  and  worn  out  with 
the  nervous  strain  that  I  was  ready  to  lie  down 
in  the  mud  even,  and  go  to  sleep,  when  just  at 
daylight  I  saw  a  man  crawling  on  all  fours  across 
an  open  space  maybe  twenty  rods  away,  and 
across  a  ravine. 

"It  was  a  little  lighter  up  where  he  was  and 
I  knew  he  couldn't  see  me.  I  lay  low  behind  a 
rock  and  watched  him,  and  as  it  grew  lighter 
saw  he  wore  gray,  and  I  knew  he  was  an  enemy. 
For  ten  minutes  he  never  moved,  and  I  lay  there 
with  a  bead  on  him  trying  to  decide  what  to  do. 
I  knew  he  was  there  to  kill,  and  that  my  duty 
was  to  shoot,  and  yet  I  hesitated.  We  shoot  in 
battle  not  really  knowing  whether  we  kill  or  not, 
but  to  deliberately  pull  trigger  knowing  it  means 
sending  a  human  soul  into  eternity  is  an  awful 
thing  to  do.  His  own  action  decided  the  matter, 
for,  as  I  saw  him  lift  himself  a  little  and  then 
raise  his  gun  to  the  shoulder,  I  fired.  Then  I  saw 
"him  spring  to  his  feet,  whirl  around,  clasp  his 
hands  to  his  breast  and  slowly  sink  forward  half 
out  of  sight.  I  put  a  fresh  cartridge  in,  and  then 
never  took  my  eyes  off  that  gray  heap  until  the 
relief  guard  came  along.  He  was  not  quite  dead 
J30 


Mysteries. 

when  we  went  to  him,  for  the  ball  had  gone 
through  his  lungs,  and  he  was  fighting  hard  for 
breath.  He  was  a  beardless  boy,  not  over  eigh 
teen,  and  as  he  gasped,  the  blood  gushed  out  of 
his  mouth.  We  saw  him  try  to  speak,  but  could 
not,  and  then  he  looked  at  us  three ;  first  one  and 
then  another.  It  must  be  he  saw  more  pity  in 
my  face  than  in  the  others,  for  the  poor  boy  sud 
denly  reached  out  his  hand  toward  me,  and  as  I 
took  it  he  drew  me  down  to  try  and  whisper  to 
me.  It  was  of  no  use;  I  could  not  catch  the 
sound. 

"I  wiped  the  blood  away  from  his  lips  and  then 
rolled  my  blouse  up  for  a  pillow  and  laid  his  head 
on  it.  I  could  see  a  mute  look  of  gratitude  in  his 
eyes,  like  those  of  a  dying  dog,  and,  mingling  with 
that,  the  awful  fear  of  death.  It  was  all  over  in 
a  few  moments,  and  at  the  last  he  drew  my  hand 
to  his  lips  and  kissed  it.  The  other  two  boys 
turned  away,  and  I  was  glad,  for  the  tears  were- 
chasing  each  other  down  my  face.  The  one  bit 
of  consolation  I  had  was,  the  poor  boy  did  not 
know  I  shot  him.  When  it  was  all  over,  we  left 
him,  and  later  we  three  went  up  there  and  buried 
him  beside  the  rock  where  he  died.  I  saw  his 
face  hovering  over  me  all  last  night,  and  it  wilt 
haunt  me  as  long  as  I  live." 
J3J 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  GRASP  OF  DEATH. 

WHEN  the  fierce  heat  of  E  Company's  second 
summer  in  an  almost  tropical  climate  was  fast 
depleting  their  ranks,  Manson  wrote  to  Liddy: 

"Disease  among  us  is  more  dangerous  than 
rebel  bullets.  When  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  feel 
that  the  long,  hot  hours  in  hay  fields,  or  the  bit 
ter  cold  ones  in  the  snow-buried  woods,  were  se 
vere  hardships,  but  now  I  thank  God  for  them! 
If  I  survive  the  exposure  here  it  will  be  because 
of  the  splendid  health  and  strength  that  came  to 
me  from  those  days  on  the  farm.  Sometimes 
when  the  miserable  food  I  have  to  eat,  or  the  vile 
water  I  must  drink,  is  at  its  worst,  I  think  of  what 
mother  used  to  cook,  and  how  sweet  the  water 
in  dear  old  Ragged  Brook  used  to  taste  on  a  hot 
summer  day,  and  you  cannot  imagine  what  I 
would  give  for  a  chance  to  thrust  my  face  into 
that  cool  stream,  where  it  was  leaping  over  a 
mossy  ledge,  and  drink  my  fill. 

J32 


I 

The  Grasp  of  Death. 

"I  have  passed  through  some  ghastly  and  sick 
ening  experiences,  too  horrible  to  relate  to  you, 
and  at  times  I  am  so  depressed  that  I  lose  all 
hope,  and  then  again  I  feel  that  I  shall  pull 
through  all  right.  One  thing  I  want  you  to  do, 
and  that  is,  forget  the  foolish  promise  I  exacted 
from  you  that  day  on  Blue  Hill.  Some  things 
have  occurred  that  have  convinced  me  it  was  do 
ing  you  a  cruel  injustice  to  ask  such  a  promise." 

It  was  the  last  letter  Liddy  ever  received  from 
her  soldier  boy,  and  when  she  read  it  it  filled  her 
with  a  new  and  uncanny  dread. 

During  those  first  two  years  of  service,  E  Com 
pany  made  heroic  history.  They  took  part  in 
eleven  hard-fought  battles,  besides  many  skir 
mishes,  and  not  a  man  flinched  or  shirked  a  duty ! 
They  were  all  hardy  sons  of  old  New  England, 
who,  like  their  forefathers  of  '76,  fought  for  home 
and  liberty;  for  freedom  and  love  of  country. 
Such,  and  such  only,  are  true  heroes ! 

Of  the  battles  in  which  they  took  part,  now 
famous  in  history,  Chancellorsville,  Gettysburg, 
Tracy  City,  Resaca,  Peach  Creek  and  Atlanta 
were  the  most  severe,  though  many  others  were 
as  sanguinary.  Their  losses  in  all  these  engage 
ments  were  sixteen  officers,  killed  or  wounded  in 
battle,  and  twenty-three  privates,  or  total  of  thir- 
J33 


Pocket  Island. 

ty-nine.  In  addition,  eight  were  taken  prisoners, 
most  of  whom  died  in  rebel  prison  pens;  and 
thirty-six  others  died  of  disease  or  were  disabled 
by  it.  Out  of  the  one  hundred  hardy  men  who 
left  Southton,  only  nineteen  returned  unharmed 
at  the  close  of  the  war ! — a  record  for  brave  serv 
ice  that  was  not  surpassed,  and  one  that  should 
weave  a  laurel  wreath  around  every  name ! 

Manson  had  passed  through  eight  battles  un 
harmed  and  dread  disease  had  failed  to  touch  his 
splendid  strength ;  but  at  the  battle  of  Peach 
Creek,  and  under  a  blazing  July  sun  he  fell.  His 
regiment  had  been  ordered  to  charge  a  hill,  from 
the  top  of  which  a  perfect  storm  of  rebel  bullets 
were  pouring  upon  them,  and  with  hands  grip 
ping  his  gun  and  teeth  fiercely  set,  he  with  the  rest 
faced  the  almost  certain  death  as  they  charged 
up  the  hill !  When  half  way  up,  and  just  as  he 
had  leaped  a  low  stone  wall,  two  red-hot  irons 
seemed  to  pierce  him,  and  with  a  bullet  through 
one  leg,  and  a  shattered  arm  he  went  down,  and 
leaving  him  there,  the  storm  of  battle  swept  on  f 

Conscious  still,  and  believing  his  end  had  come, 
he  yet  remembered  that  wall,  and  faint  and 
Weeding  he  crawled  back  to  it.  He  could  hear 
the  roar  of  guns,  and  the  groans  of  dying  men 
about  him,  and  in  that  awful  moment,  with  death 
134 


The  Grasp  of  Death. 

near,  one  thought  alone  came,  and  that  was  to 
shelter  himself  between  the  rocks,  so  that  mad 
horses  and  frenzied  men  might  not  trample  upon 
his  face.  He  could  see  near  by  a  rock  close  to  the 
wall,  and  like  some  wild  animal  that  had  received 
its  death  wound,  yet  crawls  into  a  thicket  to  die, 
so  he  crept  into  this  shelter  and  lay  there  moan 
ing. 

Hour  after  hour  passed  in  agony,  while  his 
life  blood  ebbed  away.  He  could  not  stop  it;  he 
did  not  try.  Since  death  was  near  and  he  felt 
that  it  must  come,  the  sooner  it  was  over  the 
better.  Men  and  horses  swept  by  and  heeded  him 
not!  The  fierce  sun  beat  upon  him,  but  no  one 
came  to  succor!  His  tongue  grew  parched  and 
a  terrible  thirst  tortured  him ;  but  there  was  no 
water.  Only  the  hard  stones  upon  which  his 
head  was  pillowed,  the  dry  earth  that  drank  his 
blood,  and  the  merciless  sun  blazing  above.  He 
could  hear  the  dying  men  about  him  groaning 
and  cursing  God  in  their  agony,  and  the  roar  of 
cannon  that  made  the  earth  tremble  beneath  him. 

Then  the  sounds  of  conflict  and  carnage  passed 
away,  and  left  only  the  moans  of  the  wounded 
near  him  to  echo  his  own.  At  last  night  came 
and  threw  her  dark  mantle  over  that  scene  of 
death  and  despair,  and  later  the  moon  rose  and 
J35 


Pocket  Island. 

shed  her  pale  light  upon  it.  Those  soft  beams  of 
silvery  white  were  angels  of  mercy,  for  they  car 
ried  that  dying  boy's  heart  away  to  the  hills  of 
old  New  England,  and  to  where  a  rippling  brook 
danced  like  silver  coin  beneath  them,  and  a  fair 
girl's  face  and  tender  blue  eyes  smiled  upon  him. 
Then  the  picture  faded  and  he  knew  no  more. 


Those  Who  Wait. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THOSE  WHO  WAIT. 

THERE  is  nothing  in  life  much  harder  to  bear 
than  suspense.  To  know  the  worst,  whatever 
that  may  be,  is  far  preferable  to  the  long  agony 
of  doubt;  hoping  for  the  best,  yet  fearing  the 
worst.  Even  a  hardened  criminal  has  been 
known  to  admit  that  the  two  or  three  hours  of 
waiting  for  the  verdict  was  far  worse  than  the 
march  to  the  gallows.  If  this  be  so,  what  must 
it  be  to  the  tender,  loving  hearts  of  good  and  true 
women  whose  husbands,  sweethearts,  brothers 
and  sons  are  facing  the  dangers  of  war,  and  who 
(God  pity  them)  have  to  endure  this  dread  sus 
pense  for  weeks  and  months  when  no  tidings 
reach  them? 

When  the  train  bearing  Liddy's  soldier  boy 
from  sight  had  rolled  away  she  clung  to  her  fath 
er's  arm  in  mute  despair.  Pride  sustained  her 
until  they  had  left  the  town  behind,  and  were 
driving  across  the  wide  plains  toward  her  home, 
J37 


Pocket  Island. 

and  then  the  tears  came.  The  memory  of  many 
pleasant  moonlit  drives  along  the  same  road 
when  her  lover  was  with  her  came  back,  and  with 
it  the  realization  that  it  was  all  ended,  perhaps 
forever,  and  that  the  best  she  could  look  forward 
to  was  three  years  of  weary  waiting.  Before  Ker^ 
miles  away,  rose  the  Blue  Hills,  distinct  in  the 
clear  air,  and  as  she  looked  at  them,  back  came 
the  memory  of  one  day  a  month  before — a  day 
replete  with  joy  and  sorrow,  when  he  had  paid 
her  the  greatest  and  sweetest  compliment  a  man 
can  pay  a  woman.  She  could  recall  the  very 
tones  of  his  voice  and  she  could  almost  feel  the 
touch  of  his  arms  when  he  had  held  her  close  for 
one  brief  moment.  In  silence  she  rode  along  for 
a  time,  trying  to  control  herself t  and  then  turn 
ing  to  her  father  she  said : 

"Father,  there  is  something  I  must  tell  you, 
and  I  ask  your  forgiveness  for  not  doing  so  be 
fore."  And  then,  in  her  odd,  winsome  way,  rest 
ing  her  cheek  against  his  shoulder  and  holding 
her  left  hand  before  his  face  for  a  moment,  she 
continued :  "Can  you  guess  ?" 

"No,  my  child,"  he  answered,  quickly,  wishing 

to  cheer  her,  "I  could  not  possibly  guess.     The 

ways  of  my  little  girl  are  so  deep  and  dark,  how 

could  I?"  and  then  continuing  in  a  more  cheerful 

J38 


Those  Who  Wait. 

tone :  "Don't  cry  any  more,  Liddy.  Some  one 
is  coming  back  from  the  war  by  and  by,  and  some 
one  else  will  want  a  lot  of  new  dresses  for  a  wed 
ding,  and  expects  to  be  happy,  and  I  hope  she 
will  be." 

Then  a  little  hand  began  stroking  his  arm  and 
a  still  damp  face  was  being  rubbed  against  his 
shoulder,  and  presently  a  soft  voice  whispered: 
"Father,  you  have  always  been  too  good  to  me. 
You  never  said  a  word  and  you  knew  it  all  along, 
I  guess !"  which  rather  incoherent  speech  may  be 
excused  under  the  circumstances. 

The  few  weeks  that  followed  were  not  as 
gloomy  to  Liddy  as  later  ones.  Her  home  du 
ties  outside  of  school  hours  had  always  been  nu 
merous,  and  now  she  found  them  a  relief.  Let 
ters  also  came  frequently  from  the  absent  one, 
and  she  felt  that  he  was  not  yet  in  danger — that 
was  a  grain  of  consolation.  But  wKen  he  wrote 
that  they  were  to  start  for  the  front  the  next  day, 
her  heart  grew  heavy  again  and  from  that  time 
on  the  dread  suspense  was  never  lifted.  She 
wrote  him  frequently  and  tried  to  make  her  let 
ters  brave  and  cheerful.  All  the  simple  details  of 
her  home  life  were  faithfully  portrayed,  and  it 
became  a  habit  to  write  him  a  page  every  night. 
She  called  it  a  little  chat,  but  it  might  better  have 
J39 


Pocket  Island. 

been  called  an  evening  prayer,  for  into  those 
tender  words  were  woven  every  sweet  wish  and 
hopeful  petition  of  a  loving  woman's  heart.  After 
the  battle  of  Chancellorsville  a  cloud  seemed  rest 
ing  upon  Southton,  and  Liddy  felt  that  the  weary 
waiting  was  becoming  more  oppressive  than  ever. 
It  had  been  her  father's  custom  to  drive  "over 
town,"  as  it  was  called,  once  a  day  to  obtain  the 
news,  and  she  had  always  met  him  on  his  return, 
even  before  he  entered  the  house,  to  more  quickly 
learn  the  worst.  She  began  to  dread  even  this, 
lest  he  should  bring  the  tidings  she  feared  most. 

Then  came  the  call  for  needed  supplies  to  be 
used  in  the  care  of  the  wounded,  and  gladly 
Liddy  joined  with  other  good  ladies  in  picking 
lint,  preparing  bandages,  and  the  like,  and  con 
tributing  many  articles  for  the  use  and  comfort 
of  the  soldiers.  In  this  noble  work  she  came  to 
realize  how  many  other  hearts  besides  her  own 
carried  a  burden,  and  to  feel  a  kinship  of  sorrow 
with  them.  Her  engagement  to  Manson  seemed 
to  be  generally  known  and  the  common  burden 
soon  obliterated  her  first  girlish  reticence  con 
cerning  it. 

"I  feel  that  I  am  growing  old  very  fast,"  she 
wrote  him,  "and  that  I  am  a  girl  no  longer.  Just 
think,  it  is  only  ten  months  since  I  felt  angry 
J40 


I 

Those  Who  Wait. 

when  some  of  the  girls  told  me  they  heard  I  was 
engaged  to  you,  and  now  I  don't  care  who  knows 
it" 

For  the  next  three  months  there  were  no  bat 
tles  that  he  was  engaged  in,  and  yet  the  suspense 
was  the  same.  Then  when  the  new  year  came 
another  burden  was  added,  for  her  mother  grew 
worse,  and  it  seemed  to  Liddy  as  if  the  shadows 
were  thick  about  her.  An  event  that  occurred  in 
the  early  spring,  and  two  months  after  the  battle 
of  Tracy  City,  made  a  deep  impression  on  her. 
Captain  Upson,  promoted  from  first  lieutenant 
of  Company  E,  was  wounded  at  that  battle,  and 
dying  later,  was  brought  to  Southton  for  burial. 
He  was  universally  respected  and  almost  the  en 
tire  townsfolk  gathered  at  the  church  to  pay 
their  tribute.  Hundreds  failed  to  gain  admission, 
and  it  was  said  to  have  been  the  largest  funeral 
ever  known  in  the  town.  Liddy  had  never  seen 
a  military  funeral  and  the  ceremonies  were  sadly 
impressive.  The  long  service  at  the  church ;  the 
touching  words  of  the  minister  uttered  over  the 
flag-draped  coffin,  upon  which  rested  a  sword ; 
the  sad  procession  to  the  cemetery,  headed  by 
muffled  drum  and  melancholy  fife  mingling  their 
sounds  with  the  tolling  bell,  and  then  the  arched 
arms  of  soldiers,  beneath  which  the  body  was 
J4J 


Pocket  Island. 

borne;  the  short  prayer;  the  three  volleys;  and 
last  of  all,  lively  music  on  the  return.  This  fea 
ture  impressed  her  as  the  saddest  of  all,  for  it 
seemed  to  say :  "Now,  we  will  forget  the  dead  as 
soon  as  possible,"  which  in  truth  was  what  it 
meant  in  military  custom. 

It  is  needless  to  say  as  she  returned  with  her 
father  to  their  now  saddened  home,  a  possible 
event  of  similar  import  in  which  she  must  be  a 
broken-hearted  mourner  entered  her  mind.  Dur 
ing  the  next  month  came  another  and  far  worse 
blow.  Her  mother,  long  an  invalid,  contracted  a 
severe  cold  and,  in  spite  of  all  possible  effort  to 
save  her,  in  three  short  days  passed  away.  To 
even  faintly  express  the  anguish  of  that  now  be 
reaved  husband  and  motherless  girl  is  impossi 
ble  and  shall  not  be  attempted. 

When  the  funeral  was  over  and  they  once  more 
sat  by  the  fire  in  the  sitting-room,  as  was  cus 
tomary  each  evening,  their  pleasant  home  seemed 
utterly  desolate,  and  the  tall  clock  in  the  hall 
ticked  with  far  deeper  solemnity.  Liddy  in  fact 
was,  as  she  felt  herself  to  be,  walking  "through 
the  valley  and  shadow  of  death."  To  add  to  her 
utter  wretchedness,  if  that  were  possible,  she  had 
received  no  letter  from  Manson  for  three  weeks, 
and  there  were  no  rifts  of  sunshine  in  her  hori- 
J42 


Those  Who  Wait. 

zon.  She  wrote  him  a  long  account  of  her  loss 
and  all  the  misery  of  mind  she  was  experienc 
ing  and  then,  as  she  had  no  address  to  mail  it  to,, 
held  the  letter  in  waiting,  and  finally  tore  it  up. 
"It  will  only  give  him  pain  to  know  it,"  she 
thought,  "and  he  has  enough  to  bear."  When 
she  next  heard  from  him  she  realized  more  than 
ever  how  many  lonely  and  homesick  hours  he  had 
to  endure,  and  was  glad  she  had  kept  her  sorrow 
to  herself. 

A  few  weeks  later  her  father,  thinking  to  make 
the  house  more  cheerful,  proposed  that  her  Aunt 
Mary — a  widowed  sister  of  his — should  come 
and  live  with  them. 

"No,  father,"  said  Liddy,  after  the  matter  had 
been  discussed,  "I  would  rather  be  alone  and  take 
care  of  you  myself."  Then  she  added,  with  a  lit 
tle  quiver  in  her  voice:  "You  are  the  only  one 
I've  got  to  love  now  and  perhaps  the  only  one  I 
shall  ever  have." 

Liddy  was  essentially  a  home-loving  girl  and 
cared  but  little  for  company.  A  few  friends,  and 
good  ones,  might  be  considered  as  the  text  of  her 
life,  and  even  at  school  it  had  been  the  same.  Her 
•home  duties  and  her  father's  needs  were  a  suffi 
cient  kingdom,  and  over  it  she  was  a  gracious 
queen.  For  the  first  three  months  after  her  moth- 

H3 


Pocket  Island. 

er's  death  she  and  her  father  lived  a  life  of  nearly 
silent  sadness.  Almost  daily  he  visited  the  town, 
dreading  far  worse  than  Liddy  ever  knew  lest  he 
must  return  with  sad  tidings.  He  knew  what 
was  ever  in  her  heart,  and  as  her  life-happiness 
was  dear  to  him,  he  wasted  no  time  in  discussing 
war  news  with  his  friends  in  the  village.  When 
June  came  Liddy  felt  that  a  change  in  the  morose 
current  of  their  lives  must  be  made,  and  in  her 
peculiar  way  set  about  to  carry  out  her  idea.  She 
knew  his  fiftieth  birthday  came  during  that 
month,  and  when  the  day  arrived  she  said  to  him  : 

"Come  home  early  to-night,  father,  I  have  a 
great,  big  favor  to  ask  of  you."  All  that  after 
noon  she  worked  at  her  little  plot,  and  when  tea 
time  came  and  he  entered  the  house  a  surprise 
awaited  him.  The  dining-table  had  been  moved 
into  the  sitting-room,  set  with  the  best  china,  and 
in  the  center  was  a  vase  of  flowers.  Draped  from 
the  hanging  lamp  above  it,  and  extending  to  each 
corner  were  ropes  of  ground  pine,  and  around 
his  plate  was  a  double  row  of  full-blown  roses. 
It  was  a  pretty  sight,  and  when  he  looked  at  it 
he  smiled  and  said:  "Expecting  company,  Lid 
dy?" 

"Yes,  you,"  was  her  answer;  "and  I've  made 


J44 


Those  Who  Wait. 

a  shortcake,  and  I  picked  the  strawberries  my 
self." 

When  he  was  seated  in  his  accustomed  chair 
he  looked  at  the  array  of  roses,  and  in  a  sur 
prised  voice  remarked :  "Why  didn't  you  put 
some  around  your  own  plate,  Liddy?" 

"Because  it's  not  my  birthday,"  came  the  an 
swer;  "count  them,  father." 

The  thoughtful  tribute  touched  him,  and  a 
look  of  sadness  crept  in  his  face.  "I  had  for 
gotten  how  old  I  was,"  he  said. 

Liddy  made  no  reply  until  she  had  poured  his 
tea,  and  then  she  said,  in  her  earnest  way :  "Now, 
father,  I  don't  want  you  to  think  of  that  any 
more,  or  anything  else  that  is  past  and  gone. 
Please  think  how  hard  I  worked  all  the  after 
noon  to  fix  the  table  and  how  much  I  want  to 
make  you  happy." 

When  it  came  time  to  retire,  he  said:  "You 
haven't  told  me  yet  what  that  big  favor  is,  Lid 
dy!" 

For  answer  she  went  to  him  and  taking  his 
face  in  her  hands,  she  kissed  him  on  either  cheek 
and  whispered:  "Wait  till  to-morrow  I" 


Pocket  Island. 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

A       FEW       BRIGHT       DAYS. 

THE  next  evening  after  supper  Liddy  showed 
unusual  cheerfulness.  She  had  that  day  received 
three  letters  from  the  absent  one,  though  of  dif 
ferent  dates,  and  all  contained  assuring  words. 
Then  she  had  a  little  plan  of  loving  intent  mapped 
•out  in  her  mind  and  was  eager  to  carry  it  out. 
Her  father  noticed  her  unusual  mood  and  said : 
"It  seems  good  to  see  you  smile  once  more, 
Liddy." 

"I  am  trying  hard  to  feel  happy,"  she  an 
swered,  "and  harder  still  to  make  you  feel  so  as 
-well."  And  then,  drawing  her  chair  close  to 
iiim,  she  sat  down  and  rested  her  face  against  his 
shoulder.  It  was  one  of  her  odd  ways,  and  it 
must  be  now  stated  that  when  this  winsome  girl 
most  earnestly  desired  to  reach  her  father's  heart, 
she  always  stroked  his  shoulder  with  her  face. 

"Well,"  he  said,  recognizing  her  method,  "I 
know  you  have  something  on  your  mind ;  so  tell 
me  what  it  is  right  away !" 
146 


A  Few  Bright  Days. 

She  made  no  immediate  reply,  but  softly 
stroked  him  for  a  moment  and  then  replied: 
"Yes,  I  do  want  something ;  I  want  a  clock !"  and 
then,  straightening  herself  up,  she  continued 
earnestly:  "I  want  a  lot  of  things;  I  want  a 
pretty  clock  to  put  on  the  mantel,  and  I  want  you 
to  put  the  tall  one  up  into  the  attic,  for  it  gives 

me  the  blues;  and  say,  father" and  here 

again  her  face  went  to  his  shoulder,  "I  want  a 
piano !" 

"Is  that  all  ?"  he  answered,  a  droll  smile  creep 
ing  into  his  face. 

"No,"  she  said,  "that  isn't  all;  but  it's  all  I 
dare  ask  for  now." 

"Better  tell  me  the  rest,"  he  replied,  stroking 
the  head  that  still  rested  against  his  arm.  "You 
haven't  surprised  me  yet." 

And  then  there  was  a  very  pretty  scene,  for 
the  next  instant  that  blue-eyed  heart-breaker  was 
sitting  in  her  father's  lap,  with  both  arms  around 
his  neck. 

"Do  you  mean  it,  father?"  she  whispered". 
"Can  I  have  a  piano?" 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  answered  softly,  "if  you 
want  one." 

In  a  week  the  old  cottage  organ  that  had  felt 
the  touch  of  Liddy's  childish  fingers  learning  the 

J47 


Pocket  Island. 

scale,  was  keeping  company  with  the  tall  clock 
in  the  attic,  and  in  its  place  stood  a  piano.  In 
the  sitting-room  a  new  clock  that  chimed  the 
hours  and  halves  ticked  on  the  mantel.  These 
were  not  all  the  changes,  for  when  so  much  was 
won  our  heart-breaker  renewed  her  assault  by 
her  usual  method,  and  pretty  portieres  took  the 
place  of  doors  between  parlor,  hall  and  sitting- 
room,  and  delicate  lace  curtains  draped  the  win 
dows.  Then  Liddy  surveyed  her  home  with 
satisfaction  and  asked  her  father  how  he  liked  it. 

"It  makes  a  great  change  in  the  rooms,"  he 
replied,  "and  they  seem  more  cheerful." 

"Do  you  notice  that  it  also  makes  the  carpets 
look  worn  and  shabby?"  said  Liddy;  "and  the 
parlor  furniture  a  little  old-fashioned  ?" 

Mr.  Camp  sat  down  in  one  of  the  parlor  chairs 
and  looked  around.  For  a  few  moments  he  sur 
veyed  the  room  in  silence  and  then  said :  "Liddy, 
did  you  ever  hear  the  story  of  the  brass  fire-dogs  ? 
I  don't  think  you  have,  so  I  will  tell  it.  There 
was  once  a  good  woman  who  persuaded  her  hus 
band  to  buy  a  pair  of  brass  fire-dogs  for  the  par 
lor,  to  take  the  place  of  the  old  iron  ones.  When 
the  new  ones  were  in  place  she  polished  them 
very  brightly  and  asked  him  to  look  into  the  room. 
"Don't  you  think,'  she  said,  'they  make  the  car- 
148 


A  Few  Bright  Days. 

pet  look  old  and  worn?'  They  certainly  did,  so 
he  bought  a  new  carpet.  That  in  turn  made  the 
furniture  seem  shabby,  so  he  was  persuaded  to- 
renew  that.  By  this  time  the  curtains  were  not 
in  harmony,  and  had  to  be  changed.  When  it 
was  all  done  he  remarked:  'Wife,  you  said  the 
fire-dogs  would  only  cost  me  four  dollars,  but 
they  have  really  cost  me  two  hundred.'  " 

"But  we  had  the  brass  fire-dogs  already,"  said 
Liddy  laughing,  "so  the  story  doesn't  hit  me." 
Then,  going  to  him  and  putting  one  arm  around 
his  neck  and  stroking  his  face  with  the  other 
hand,  she  continued:  "The  trouble  is,  father, 
you  have  got  me  instead  of  new  fire-dogs ;  are 
you  sorry?" 

"You  must  judge  for  yourself,"  was  his  an 
swer.  "Is  there  anything  else  you  wish?" 

"Yes,  there  are  two  other  things  I  want,"  was 
her  reply,  still  stroking  him ;  "I  want  to  see  you 
look  happier,  and  feel  happier,  and  I  want  some 
one  to  come  back  safe  from  the  war." 

Life  is  at  best  but  a  succession  of  moods  that, 

like  a  pendulum,  ever  vibrate  between  mirth  and 

sadness.     Circumstances  will  almost  invariably 

'force  the  vibrations  to  greater  extremes,  but  just 

as  surely  will  its  opposite  mood  return.    Though 

clouds  darken  to-day,  the  sun  will  shine  to-mor- 

J49 


Pocket  Island. 

row ;  and  if  sorrow  comes,  joy  will  follow ;  while 
ever  above  the  rippled  shores  of  laughter  floats 
the  mist  of  tears. 

In  some  respects  Liddy  was  a  peculiar  girl. 
While  loving  those  near  her  with  almost  pathetic 
tenderness  and  constantly  striving  to  show  it,  she 
shrank  like  a  scared  child  from  any  public  ex 
hibition  of  that  feeling.  She  had  another  pecu 
liarity  that  might  be  called  a  whim — she  loved  to 
try  experiments  upon  her  own  feelings  to  see 
what  effect  they  would  have.  It  was  this  that 
had  been  the  real  cause  of  her  desire  to  attend 
the  military  funeral  that  had  taken  place  in 
Southton  a  few  months  previous.  Since  her 
mother's  death  Liddy  had  remained  at  home 
nearly  all  the  time.  She  seldom  went  to  the  vil 
lage,  because  to  do  so  awakened  unpleasant  mem 
ories.  To  drive  past  the  now  vacant  academy  or 
near  the  depot  was  to  awaken  unhappy  thought 
and  force  her  into  a  sad  mood.  The  seclusion  of 
her  home  seemed  more  in  harmony  with  her  feel 
ings.  She  had  but  few  intimate  friends,  and  even 
those  jarred  upon  her  now,  and  her  father  was 
the  best,  and  the  only  one  she  cared  to  be  with. 
One  day  in  mid-summer,  she  surprised  him  with 
a  strange  request. 

"Father,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  go  fishing.  I 
J50 


A  Few  Bright  Days. 

don't  mean  to  tramp  through  the  brush  along  a 
brook,  but  I  want  you  to  take  me  to  some  pretty 
pond  where  there  are  trees  all  around,  and  where 
I  can  sit  in  a  boat  on  the  shady  side  and  fish. 
We  will  take  a  basket  of  lunch  and  have  a  nice 
time.  If  we  cannot  catch  fish  we  can  pick  pond 
lilies.  Will  you  go?" 

As  there  was  nothing  that  loving  father  would 
not  do  for  his  only  child,  it  is  needless  to  say 
that  the  trip  was  made. 

When  Liddy  began  to  catch  fish,  and  he  no 
ticed  how  excited  she  became,  he  said,  with  quiet 
humor:  "Which  would  you  rather  do,  Liddy, 
put  your  fish  in  the  boat  or  hang  them  up  in  the 
trees  ?  Tut,  tut !"  he  continued,  as  he  saw  a  deep 
shadow  creep  over  her  face,  "you  will  have  Char 
lie  to  bait  your  hook  next  summer,  never  fear !" 

That  night  she  wrote  to  her  soldier  boy:  "I 
coaxed  father  to  take  me  fishing  to-day.  I 
wanted  to  see  if  it  wouldn't  bring  me  nearer  to 
you  or  you  to  me.  I  came  home  in  a  sad  mood, 
however,  though  I  learned  one  thing,  and  that  is 
wherein  lies  the  fascination  of  fishing.  It's  the 
constant  expectation  of  getting  a  bite  that  takes 
your  mind  away  from  all  else." 

With  the  autumn  evenings  came  the  time  for 
open  fires,  and  Liddy  had  hard  work  to  keep  her 
J5J 


Pocket  Island. 

spirits  up.  There  were  so  many  tender  associa 
tions  lurking  in  the  firelight,  and  so  much  that 
brought  back  the  past  and  gone  hours  of  happi 
ness  that  it  was  painful  instead  of  cheerful. 
Thanksgiving  time  and  the  holidays  were  days 
of  sadness  instead  of  joy.  The  long  eighteen 
months  of  constant  dread  and  suspense  had  worn 
upon  her  nerves  and  was  slowly  changing  her 
from  a  light-hearted,  happy  girl  to  a  saddened, 
waiting  woman.  The  winter  slowly  dragged  its 
weary  length,  and  one  evening,  about  a  year  from 
the  time  she  had  attended  the  military  funeral, 
she  broke  down  entirely.  She  had  tried  piano 
practice  for  a  time  and  then  reading,  but  neither 
availed  to  occupy  her  thoughts  or  drive  away  the 
gloom.  Finally  she  sat  down  beside  her  father, 
who  was  reading,  and  said  piteously: 

"Father,  please  talk  to  me ;  tell  me  stories, 
scold  me — anything!  I  am  so  utterly  wretched 
I  am  ready  to  cry!" 

"My  child,"  he  answered  tenderly,  stroking  the 
fair  head  that  was  resting  against  his  arm,  "don't 
let  your  mind  brood  so  much  upon  your  own 
troubles ;  try  and  think  how  many  there  are  who 
have  more  to  bear  than  you  have." 

The  delicate  reproach,  though  not  intended  as 
such  by  him,  was  the  last  straw,  for  the  next  in- 
J52 


A  Few  Bright  Days. 

stant  her  head  was  down  in  his  lap  and  she  was 
sobbing  like  a  child.  When  the  little  shower  was 
over  she  raised  her  face  and  whispered : 

"Don't  think  it's  all  Charlie,  father,  or  that  I 
forget  mother,  or  how  much  you  have  to  bear; 
for  I  do  not.  It's  all  combined,  and  the  silent 
room  upstairs  added  to  the  dread,  that  is  break 
ing  my  heart." 

When  the  day  that  marked  the  anniversary  of 
her  parting  from  Manson  arrived  she  tried  an 
other  experiment  upon  herself.  The  promise  she 
had  made  him  that  day  seemed  a  sacred  bond, 
and  she  resolved  to  go  alone  to  Blue  Hill  and 
see  how  it  would  affect  her.  The  day  was  almost 
identical  to  the  one  two  years  previous,  and  when, 
late  in  the  afternoon,  she  arrived  at  the  top,  the 
spot  seemed  unchanged.  The  trees  were  thick 
with  the  same  fresh  foliage,  the  birds  were  there, 
and  around  the  rock  where  they  had  sat  grew  the 
same  blue  violets.  Under  a  tree  was  the  little 
lattice  table,  just  as  they  had  left  it.  She  sat 
down  on  the  rock  and  tried  to  live  over  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  that  day.  They  all  came 
back,  like  so  many  spectres  of  a  past  and  gone 
"happiness,  and  as,  one  by  one,  they  filed  by  in 
thought,  the  utter  silence  and  solitude  of  the 
place  seemed  to  increase.  The  only  sound  was 
J53 


Pocket  Island. 

the  faint  whisper  of  the  breeze  in  the  hemlocks, 
and  as  she  listened  and  looked  into  the  shadow 
beyond  where  the  trees  grew  thicker,  a  strange 
feeling  of  fear  began  to  assail  her  heart  and  a 
new  and  horrible  dread  crept  into  her  thoughts. 
She  had  not  heard  from  the  absent  one  for  two 
weeks — what  if  the  dreaded  fate  had  already 
come  and  he  was  at  this  very  moment  near  her 
in  spirit?  And  as  all  the  horror  of  this  thought 
forced  itself  upon  her,  she  suddenly  rose  to  her 
feet,  and  almost  running,  left  the  spot. 

When  she  arrived  home  and  looked  into  her 
mirror  she  saw  a  strange  expression  on  her  face 
and  her  lips  were  pale.  "I  could  not  go  there 
again,"  she  said  to  herself;  "I  should  go  mad  if 
I  did." 

During  the  next  few  weeks  the  dread  seemed 
to  grow  upon  her  day  by  day.  She  did  not  dare 
tell  her  father  of  her  trip  to  Blue  Hill,  but  he 
noticed  that  she  was  getting  thin  and  that  her 
eyes  were  growing  hollow.  Then  came  the  news 
of  the  battle  of  Peach  Creek  and  that  Company 
E  were  engaged  in  it ;  but  no  names  of  the  killed 
or  wounded,  if  any,  reached  her,  and  no  letter 
from  Manson. 

Each  day  her  father  drove  to  the  village  and 
he  was  always  met  at  the  gate  upon  his  return  by 
J54 


A  Few  Bright  Days. 

a  sad-faced  girl  whose  blue  eyes  wore  a  look  of 
piteous  appeal.  He  tried  to  comfort  her  all  he 
could;  but  it  did  no  good.  She  could  not  talk; 
she  could  sarcely  eat  or  sleep,  but  went  about 
her  daily  work  as  if  in  a  trance.  Occasionally  in 
the  evening  she  would  give  way  to  tears,  and  for 
three  weeks  she  existed  in  a  state  of  wretched 
ness  no  pen  can  describe.  Then  one  evening  her 
father  handed  her  a  letter  in  a  strange  handwrit 
ing  and  turned  his  face  away,  for  he  knew  its 
contents. 

"Tell  me  the  worst,  father,"  she  almost 
screamed,  "tell  me  quick ;  is  he  alive  ?" 

"Yes,  my  child,"  he  answered  sadjy,  "but  we 
must  go  to  him  to-morrow.  He  is  in  the  hospital 
at  Washington  and  very  low." 


J55 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

AMONG      THE      WOUNDED. 

AT  nearly  noon  the  day  after  the  battle  of 
Peach  Creek  the  searchers  for  wounded  came 
upon  Manson,  still  alive,  but  delirious.  Of  that 
ghastly  battlefield,  or  the  long  agony  of  that 
wounded  boy,  I  hesitate  to  speak.  No  pen  can 
describe,  either,  and  to  even  faintly  portray  them 
is  but  to  add  gloom  to  a  narrative  already  re 
plete  with  it.  The  twenty-four  hours  of  his  in 
describable  pain  and  torturing  thirst  were  only 
broken  by  a  few  hours  of  merciful  delirium,  when 
he  was  once  more  a  boy  and  living  his  simple, 
care-free  life  on  the  farm,  or  happy  with  Liddy. 
When  found  he  knew  it  not.  When  examined 
by  a  surgeon  that  stern  man  shook  his  head  and 
remarked :  "Slim  chance  for  you,  poor  devil-'*- 
too  much  blood  gone  already !" 

For  two  weeks  he  was  delirious  most  of  the 
time,  but  his  rugged  constitution  saved  him,  and 
when  he  showed  signs  of  gaining  and  could  be 


Among  the  Wounded. 

moved,  he  was  taken  to  the  hospital  at  Washing 
ton.  Once  there,  he  began  to  fail  again,  for  the 
long  journey  had  been  too  much  for  him. 

"He  won't  last  long,"  said  the  doctor  in  charge 
to  the  nurse.  "Better  ask  him  if  there  is  any 
one  he  wishes  to  see." 

When  he  made  his  rounds  the  next  morning 
Manson  was  worse  and  again  out  of  his  head- 
"He  has  been  wandering  in  his  mind  all  night," 
was  the  nurse's  report,  "and  he  talks  about  fish 
ing  and  catching  things  in  traps,  and  there  is  a 
girl  mixed  in  it  all.  Case  of  sweetheart,  I  guess." 

That  day  the  wounded  boy  rallied  a  little  and 
began  to  think,  and  bit  by  bit  the  sane  hours  of 
the  past  few  weeks  came  back  to  him.  How 
near  to  the  shores  of  eternal  silence  his  bark  had 
drifted,  he  little  knew !  The  long  hours  of  agony 
on  the  battlefield  since  the  moment  he  had  in 
stinctively  crawled  behind  a  rock  had  been  a  de 
lirium  of  despair  broken  only  by  visions  of  vague 
and  shadowy  import  that  he  could  not  grasp. 
All  that  he  thought  was  that  death  must  soon  end 
his  misery,  and  he  hoped  it  might  come  soon.  At 
times  he  had  bitten  and  torn  the  sleeves  of  his 
coat,  soaked  with  blood  from  his  shattered  arm, 
or  beaten  his  head  against  the  dry  earth  in  his 
agony. 

J57 


Pocket  Island. 

How  long  it  had  lasted  he  could  not  tell,  and 
the  last  that  he  remembered  was  looking  at  the 
moon,  and  then  he  seemed  to  be  drifting  away 
and  all  pain  ceased.  Then  all  around  him  he 
could  hear  voices  and  over  his  head  a  roof,  and 
he  felt  as  if  awakened  from  some  horrible  dream. 
With  his  well  arm  he  felt  of  the  other  and  found 
it  was  bound  with  splints.  The  faces  he  could 
see  were  all  strange,  but  the  men  wore  the  fa 
miliar  blue  uniform,  and  he  knew  they  were  not 
enemies.  He  was  carried  to  a  freight-car  and 
laid  in  it,  where  he  took  a  long,  jolting  ride  that 
was  all  a  torture,  at  the  end  of  which  he  was 
taken  in  an  open  wagon  to  a  long,  low  building, 
and  laid  on  one  of  many  narrow  cots  which  were 
ranged  in  double  rows.  He  could  not  raise  his 
head  or  turn  his  body.  He  could  only  rest  utterly 
helpless  and  inert,  and  indifferent  to  either  life 
or  death. 

Of  Lidd>  he  thought  many  times,  and  of  his 
mother  and  father  as  well,  and  he  wondered 
what  they  would  say  and  how  they  would  feel 
when  the  tidings  reached  them.  Then  a  kind- 
faced  woman  came  and  lifted  his  head  and  held 
it  while  he  took  medicine  or  sipped  broth,  and 
then  he  was  wandering  beside  a  brook  again,  or 
in  green  meadows.  Later  he  could  see  the  white 

J58 


Among  the  Wounded. 

cots  all  about  and  the  uncalled  roof  over  his  head 
and  the  same  motherly  face,  and  he  was  asked 
who  his  friends  were  and  whom  he  would  like 
to  send  for,  and  from  that  time  on  he  began  to 
hope. 

Would  the  one  human  being  on  earth  he  cared 
most  to  see  come  so  far,  and  could  she  it  she 
would  ?  And  would  life  still  be  left  in  him  when 
she  reached  his  side ;  or  would  he  have  been  car 
ried  out  of  the  long,  low  room,  dead,  as  he  had 
seen  others  carried?  He  wondered  what  she 
would  say  or  do  when  she  came,  and  oh!  if  he 
could  only  know  wliether  she  was  coming!  He 
could  see  the  door  at  one  corner  of  the  room 
where  she  must  enter,  and  it  was  a  little  com-; 
fort  to  look  at  that.  Then  a  resolution  and  a 
feeling  that  he  must  live  and  be  there  when  she 
came  began  to  grow  upon  him.  He  knew  four 
days  had  passed  since  she  had  been  sent  for  and 
he  could  now  count  the  hours,  and  from  that 
time  on  his  eyes  were  seldom  turned  av/ay 
from  that  door  while  he  was  awake.  Did 
ever  hours  pass  more  slowly  than  those? 
Could  it  be  possible?  I  think  not.  He  had 
no  means  of  knowing  the  time  except  to  ask 
the  nurse,  and  when  night  came  he  knew  that 
sleep  might  bridge  a  few  hours  more  speedily. 
J59 


Pocket  Island. 

Six  days  passed,  and  then  in  the  gray  light  of 
the  next  morning  he  opened  his  weary  waiting 
eyes  and  saw  bending  over  him  the  fair  face  that 
for  two  long  years,  and  all  through  his  hopeless 
agony  he  had  longed  for,  and  as  he  reached  his 
hand  to  her  in  mute  gratitude,  unable  to  speak, 
he  felt  it  clasped,  and  the  next  instant  she  was  on 
her  knees  beside  him  and  pressing  a  tear-wet 
face  upon  it,  and  he  was  listening  to  the  first 
prayer  she  ever  uttered! 

Gone  now  like  a  flash  of  light  were  all  those 
weary  months  of  heart-hunger!  Gone  all  the 
agony  and  despair  of  that  day  and  night  on  the 
battlefield !  Gone  all  the  hours  of  pain  through 
which  he  counted  the  moments  one  by  one  as  he 
watched  the  door!  No  more  was  he  lying  upon 
a  narrow  cot  listening  to  the  moans  of  the  wound 
ed  as  he  saw  the  dead  carried  out!  Instead  was 
he  resting  on  a  bed  of  violets  and  listening  to  the 
heart  throbs  of  thankfulness  and  supplication 
murmured  by  an  angel !  And  if  ever  a  prayer 
reached  the  heavenly  throne  it  was  that  one! 
When  it  was  finished,  and  her  loving  blue  eyes 
were  looking  into  his,  he  whispered : 

"Liddy,  God  bless  you !    Now  i  shall  live." 

Such  is  the  power  of  love ! 

1  feel  that  here  and  now  I  must  beg  the  kind 
UQ 


Among  the  Wounded. 

reader's  pardon  for  introducing  so  much  that  is 
painful  and  r ad  in  the  lives  of  these  two,  fitted  by 
birth  and  education  for  peace  and  simple  home 
happiness.  War  and  all  its  horrors  is  not  akin  to 
them  and  was  never  meant  to  be.  Rather  should 
their  footsteps  lead  them  where  the  bobolink 
sin2fs  -is  he  circles  over  a  green  meadow,  and  the 
blue  w?ter  lilies  stoop  to  kiss  the  brook  that  rip 
ples  through  it ;  or  where  the  fields  of  grain  bend 
and  billow  in  the  summer  breeze ;  or  the  old  mill- 
wheel  splashes,  while  the  white  flowers  in  the 
pond  above  smile  in  the  sunlight.  If  the  patient 
reader  will  but  follow  their  lives  a  little  further, 
only  peace  and  happiness  and  all  the  gentle 
voices  of  nature  shall  be  their  companions. 

For  a  month,  while  cheered  by  the  presence  of 
her  devoted  father,  Lidcy  nursed  that  feeble 
spark  of  life  back  to  health  and  strength  as  only 
a  tender  and  heroic  woman  could.  All  the  dread 
aftermath  of  war  that  daily  assailed  her  every 
sense,  did  not  make  her  falter,  but  through  all 
those  scenes  of  misery  and  death  she  bravely 
stood  by  her  post  and  her  love-imposed  duty. 
How  hard  a  task  it  was,  no  one  unaccustomed  to 
such  surroundings  can  even  faintly  realize,  and 
it  need  not  be  dwelt  upon.  When  she  had  ful 
filled  the  most  God-like  mission  ever  confided  to 


Pocket  Island.- 

woman's  hands — that  of  caring  tor  the  sick  and 
dying — and  when  returning  strength  made  it 
possible  to  remove  her  charge,  those  three  de 
voted  ones  returned  to  the  hills  of  old  New  Eng 
land. 

How  fair  the  peaceful  valley  of  Southton 
seemed  once  more,  and  how  clear  and  distinct  the 
Blue  Hills  were  outlined  in  the  pure  September 
air!  The  trees  were  just  gaining  the  annual  glory 
of  autumn  color;  but  to  Liddy  they  brought  no 
tinge  of  melancholy,  for  her  heart  was  full  of 
sweetest  joy.  She  had  saved  the  one  life  dearest 
on  earth  to  her,  and  now  the  voices  of  nature 
were  but  sounds  of  heavenly  music.  And  how 
dear  to  her  was  her  home  once  more,  and  all 
about  it!  The  brook  that  rippled  near  sounded 
like  the  low  tinkle  of  sweet  bells,  and  the  maple 
by  the  gate  whispered  once  again  the  tender 
thoughts  of  the  love  that  had  first  come  to  her 
beneath  them.  She  was  like  a  child  in  her  hap 
piness,  and  every  thought  and  every  impulse  was 
touched  by  the  mystic,  magic  wand  of  love.  Few 
ever  know  the  supreme  joy  that  came  to  her  and 
none  can  except  they  walk  with  bleeding  hearts 
and  weary  feet  through  the  valley  of  despair, 
bearing  the  burden  of  a  loved  one's  life. 

The  first  evening  she  was  alone  with  her  father, 
J62 


Among  the  Wounded. 

she  came  as  a  child  would,  to  sit  upon  his  knee, 
and  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck  whispered : 

"Father,  I  never  knew  until  now  what'  it  means 
to  be  happy,  and  how  good  and  kind  you  could 
be  to  me,  and  how  little  it  is  in  my  power  to  pay 
it  all  back.  I  can  only  love  and  care  for  you  as 
long  as  I  live,  or  as  long  as  God  spares  your 
life." 

And  be  it  said,  she  kept  her  promise. 


J63 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

PLANS     FOR     HAPPINESS. 

APPOMATTOX  and  a  glorious  ending  of  the  most 
sanguinary  war  in  the  history  of  the  nineteenth 
century  had  come,  and  with  it  a  few  changes  in 
Southton. 

Only  a  part  of  that  brave  E  Company  that 
three  years  before  marched  so  proudly  away  to 
fight  for  the  Union  ever  returned,  and  of  those 
the  greater  number  bore  the  scars  of  war  and  dis 
ease.  Very  many  sorrowing  women  and  children 
were  scattered  through  the  town,  whose  hearts 
were  sore  with  wounds  that  only  time  could  heal, 
and  the  empty  sleeve  and  the  vacant  chair  were 
sad  reminders  on  all  sides. 

The  Rev.  Jotham  still  extended  his  time-worn 
orthodox  arguments  to  a  wearisome  length, 
usually  concluding  them  with  more  or  less  varied 
and  vivid  pictures  of  the  doom  in  store  for  those 
who  failed  at  once  to  repent  and  believe;  but 
strange  to  say  the  sinners  who  were  moved  by 
his  eloquence  were  few  and  far  between.  It  was 
known  that  he  was  not  in  sympathy  with  the 
J64 


Plans  for  Happiness. 

great  majority  of  the  North,  or  the  principles 
upon  which  the  war  had  been  fought,  but  be 
lieved  in  the  right  of  secession,  and  that  the 
North  was  wrong  in  its  political  position.  Had 
he  kept  these  opinions  to  himself  it  would  have 
been  far  wiser;  but  he  made  the  mistake  of  giv 
ing  utterance  to  them  at  a  Memorial  Diiy  service 
held  in  his  church,  which  expression  was  so  ob 
noxious  to  the  most  of  his  audience  and  such  a 
direct  reflection  upon  the  brave  men  from  the 
town  who  had  shed  their  blood  for  their  country 
that  one  of  the  leading  men  of  Southton  arose  at 
the  close  of  Rev.  Jotham's  remarks  and  there  and 
then  rebuked  him.  The  affair  created  quite  a  dis 
turbance  in  public  feeling  and  was  perhaps  one 
of  the  indirect  causes  that  eventually  led  to  a  divi 
sion  of  his  church  and  to  the  formation  of  a  sepa 
rate  society  in  another  part  of  the  town. 

A  new  principal  had  assumed  charge  of  the 
academy,  the  trustees  having  decided  for  several 
reasons  that  a  change  would  be  beneficial.  Mr. 
Webber,  who  had  ruled  there  for  several  years, 
industriously  circulated  a  report  that  by  reason 
of  several  very  flattering  offers  to  engage  in  mer 
cantile  pursuits,  as  well  as  failing  health,  he  had 
decided  to  resign.  As  his  voice,  and  the  apparent 
desire  to  use  it  upon  any  and  all  possible  occa- 


Pocket  Island. 

sions,  showed  no  cessation  of  energy,  a  few  skep 
tical  ones  were  inclined  to  doubt  that  his  health 
was  seriously  affected,  and  as  it  was  over  a  year 
before  he  accepted  any  of  the  flattering  offers, 
they  believed  he  must  have  had  hard  work  to  find 
them.  For  the  rest  the  town  resumed  the  old- 
time  even  tenor  of  its  way,  though  there  had  been 
added  to  its  annals  heroic  history,  and  to  its  cal 
endar  one  day  of  annual  mourning. 

Aunt  Sally  Hart  said  that  "Liddy  Camp  had 
showed  mighty  good  grit  and  that  young  Manson 
ought  t<3  feel  purty  proud  of  her,"  which  expres 
sion  seemed  to  reflect  the  general  sentiment. 

When  the  autumn  days  and  returning  health 
came  to  Manson,  sunshine  seemed  to  once  more 
smile  upon  the  lives  of  our  two  young  friends, 
and  how  happy  they  were  during  the  all  too  short 
evenings  spent  together  in  Liddy's  newly  fur 
nished  parlor,  need  not  be  described.  It  was  no 
longer  a  courtship,  but  rather  a  loving  discussion 
of  future  plans  in  life,  for  each  felt  bound  by  an 
obligation  stronger  even  than  love,  and  how  many 
charming  air  castles  they  built  out  of  the  fire 
light  flashes  shall  not  be  told.  In  a  way,  Liddy 
"was  a  heroine  among  the  little  circle  of  her 
schoolmates  and  friends,  and  deserved  to  be,  for 
few  there  were  among  them  who  could  have 
166 


Plans  for  Happiness. 

found  the  strength  to  have  faced  the  ghastly 
scenes  she  had,  from  a  sense  of  duty. 

"I  do  not  care  to  talk  about  it,"  she  said  once 
to  one  of  those  who  had  been  near  her  in  the  old 
days  at  the  academy ;  "it  all  came  so  suddenly  I 
did  not  stop  to  think,  and  if  I  had  it  would  have 
made  no  difference.  I  did  not  think  of  myself 
at  all,  or  what  I  was  to  meet.  How  horrible  i^ 
was  to  be  thrust  among  hundreds  of  wounded 
and  dying  men;  to  hear  what  I  had  to,  and  see 
what  I  did,  I  cannot  describe  and  do  not  wish  to. 
Under  the  same  circumstances,"  she  added  quiet 
ly,  ''I  should  face  that  awful  experience  over 
again  if  necessary." 

Life  and  all  its  plans  practically  resolve  them 
selves  into  a  question  of  income  finally,  and  no 
matter  how  well  aimed  Cupid's  darts  may  be,  the 
almighty  dollar  and  the  ability  to  obtain  posses 
sion  of  it,  is  of  greater  weight  in  the  scale  than 
all  the  arrows  the  boy-god  ever  carried.  Even 
as  an  academy  boy  Manson  had  realized  this; 
faintly  at  first,  and  yet  with  growing  force,  as 
his  attachment  for  Liddy  increased.  With  a  cer 
tain  pride  in  character  he  had  resolved  to  with 
hold  any  declaration  of  love  until  he  had  at  least 
a  settled  occupation  in  life;  but  when  it  came  to 
going  to  war  and  parting,  perhaps  forever,  from 

J67 


Pocket  Island. 

the  girl  he  loved,  to  longer  remain  silent  was  to 
control  himself  beyond  his  strength.  Now  that 
she  had  shown  how  much  his  life  meant  to  her  by 
an  act  of  devotion  and  self-sacrifice  so  unusual, 
his  ambition  to  obtain  a  home  that  he  could  in 
vite  her  to  share,  returned  with  redoubled  force. 
What  to  do,  or  where  to  turn,  he  did  not  know. 
He  was  not  even  recuperated  from  the  terrible 
ordeal  that  had  so  nearly  cost  him  his  life;  but 
for  all  that  his  ambition  was  spurring  him  on 
ward  far  in  advance  of  his  strength.  One  even 
ing  late  that  autumn,  when  he  found  himself  un 
expectedly  alone  with  Mr.  Camp,  he  said: 

"I  have  for  some  time  wished  to  express  to 
you  my  hopes  and  ask  your  advice  regarding  my 
future  plans.  First,  I  want  to  ask  you  for  Liddy, 
and  beyond  that,  what  I  had  best  turn  to  to  ob 
tain  a  livelihood.  I  want  Liddy,  and  I  want  a 
home  to  keep  her  in." 

Mr.  Camp  looked  at  him  a  moment,  while  a 
droll  smile  crept  into  his  face,  and  then  replied  : 

"I  am  willing  you  should  have  Liddy,  of 
course.  I  wouldn't  have  taken  her  to  that  hos 
pital  to  try  to  save  your  life  if  I  hadn't  believed 
you  worthy  of  her ;  but  beyond  that  I  don't  think 
I  have  much  to  say  in  the  matter  anyway.  I 
couldn't  keep  you  apart  if  I  would,  and  I 
(68 


Plans  For  Happiness. 

wouldn't  if  I  could."  And  then  he  added  a  lit 
tle  more  seriously :  "She  is  all  I  have  left  in  my 
life,  and  whatever  p'.ans  you  two  make,  I  h^pe 
you  will  consider  that." 

Manson  was  silent.  The  perfect  confidence 
and  simple  pathos  of  Mr.  Camp's  statement  came 
to  him  forcibly,  and  made  him  realize  how  much 
he  was  asking.  He  meditated  a  few  moments, 
and  then  said: 

"I  feel  that  I  am  asking  for  more  than  I  de 
serve,  and  that  I  owe  you  far  more  than  I  can 
ever  repay,  but  believe  me,  I  shall  do  all  in  my 
power." 

"We  won't  worry  about  that  now,"  replied  Mr. 
Camp,  smiling  again ;  "wait  till  your  arm  is  well, 
and  then  we  will  talk  it  all  over.  In  the  mean 
time" — and  a  twinkle  came  into  his  eyes — "you 
have  one  well  arm,  and  I  guess  that's  all  Liddy 
needs  just  at  present." 

The  autumn  and  winter  evenings  sped  by  on 
wings  of  wind  to  Liddy  and  her  lover,  for  all  the 
sweet  illusions  of  life  were  theirs.  Occasionally 
they  called  on  some  of  their  old  schoolmates,  or 
were  invited  to  social  gatherings,  and  how  proud 
she  was  of  her  manly  escort,  and  he  of  the  fair 
girl  he  felt  was  all  his  own,  need  not  be  told. 


169 


Pocket  Island. 

One  day  in  the  spring  Mr.  Camp  said  to  Man- 
son:  "How  would  you  like  to  be  a  farmer?" 

"I  have  no  objections,"  he  replied ;  "my  father 
is  one,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  be 
ashamed  of  it.  It  means  hard  work,  but  I  am 
used  to  that.  I  am  ready  and  willing  to  do  any 
thing  to  earn  an  honest  living." 

Mr.  Camp  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  reflect 
ively,  and  then  said : 

"That  has  the  right  ring  in  it,  my  boy,"  and 
after  thinking  a  little  longer  added :  "I'll  tell  you 
what  I'll  do.  Charles,  if  you  can  get  Liddy  to 
set  the  day  I  will  give  her  a  deed  of  the  house 
and  you  a  deed  of  the  farm,  provided  you  two 
will  take  care  of  me.  That's  fair,  isn't  it?"  Then 
he  added,  with  a  smile,  "I  guess  you  can  coax  her 
consent  if  you  try  hard." 

The  proposition  was  so  unexpected  and  sur 
prising  that  for  a  moment  Manson  could  not 
speak,  and  then,  when  it  all  came  to  him,  and  he 
saw  the  door  of  his  dream  of  happiness  opened 
wide  by  such  an  offer,  the  tears  almost  started 
For  one  instant  he  was  in  danger  of  yielding,  but 
he  recovered  himself. 

"No  mere  words  can  possibly  express  my  grat 
itude,  sir,"  he  replied,  "but  I  could  not  accept  so 
much.  All  I  ask  for,  and  all  I  will  accept  is 

J70 


Plans  For  Happinsss. 

Liddy,  and  that  is  enough.  To  let  you  give  me 
your  farm  would  make  me  feel  that  I  was  rob 
bing  you.  I  could  not  do  it,  sir." 

And  then,  as  he  saw  a  look  of  pain  come  into 
his  would-be  benefactor's  face,  he  continued: 
"Now,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  am  willing,  and 
should  be  more  than  glad  to  do.  Let  Liddy  and 
me  keep  house  for  you,  and  I  will  manage  the 
farm,  under  your  direction.  That  is  enough,  and 
all  I  can  accept." 

"I  respect  your  feeling  of  independence,"  re 
plied  Mr.  Camp,  a  little  sadly,  "but  it  won't  work. 
A  young  man,  to  be  content,  must  feel  that  he 
has  a  home  that  is,  or  soon  will  be,  all  his  own. 
I  do  not  want  to  put  a  burden  on  your  feelings, 
but  I  want  to  make  both  you  and  my  child  happy, 
and" — with  a  little  tremor  in  his  voice — "I've 
only  got  Liddy  to  care  for  me  in  my  old  age,  and 
it's  hard  to  give  her  up.  Can't  you  believe  what 
I  offer  is  wisest  and  best?  Would  it  make  you 
feel  any  better  to  give  me  a  note  and  pay  it  when 
you  chose?  I  would  never  ask  you  for  it." 

That  evening  when  the  lovers  sat  under  the 
freshly  leaved  maples,  he  told  her  what  her  father 
had  offered. 

"I've  known  it  for  some  time,"  she  said,  "and 
I  feared  you  would  feel  hurt  and  refuse  it,  and 


Pocket  Island. 

hurt  father,  and  I  hope  you  did  not.  Put  yourself 
in  father's  place,"  she  continued  seriously,  "aud 
tell  me  how  you  would  feel.  Remember  that  I 
am  all  he  has  to  love  and  care  for  him,  and  he  is 
very  dear  to  me.  He  would  not  hurt  you  for  the 
world,  and  what  he  thinks  is  the  best  way  I  be 
lieve  is  the  best." 

"I  will  think  it  over,"  was  Manson's  comment. 
"It's  so  sudden  and  overwhelming  I  do  not  kno<v 
what  to  say  or  do.  I  can't  see  a  way  out  of  k, 
either,"  he  went  on  reflectively.  "I  want  you 
and  I  want  a  home  to  keep  you  in,  all  our  own, 
but  how,  or  where  it's  coming  from,  I  can't  see. 
Then  it's  too  much  to  ask  him  to  give  you  up." 

He  paused,  and  leaning  over  and  resting  his 
face  on  his  hands,  continued  rather  sadly : 

"I  guess  it  would  have  been  just  as  well  if  you 
had  left  me  to  die  in  the  hospital." 

It  was  a  cruel  remark  and  he  saw  it  in  an  in 
stant,  for  he  said  quickly:  "Forgive  me,  I  didn't 
mean  that.  I've  got  you  and  two  hands  to  work 
with,  and  that's  hope  enough.  Give  me  time  and 
I'll  solve  the  problem,  never  fear!" 

When  they  parted  she  put  one  arm  around  his 
neck  and  whispered : 

"It's  the  old  vocation  enigma  over  again,  Char 
lie,  isn't  it  ?  But  don't  let  it  make  you  miserable, 
172 


Plans  For  Happiness. 

and  don't  ever  say  such  a  thing  as  that  you  just 
said  again.  Do  you  know,  when  I  came  to  you  in 
the  hospital  that  morning,  I  had  not  slept  one 
moment  for  two  long  days  and  nights !  Now  try 
and  be  happy  to  pay  me  for  it,  and  remember : 

"  'The  happiest  life  that  ever  was  led 
Is  always  to  court  and  never  to  wed' " 

Then  she  kissed  him,  in  her  tender  way,  and 
if  he  did  not  think  she  was  right,  it  was  because 
he  was  like  most  young  men  who  don't  know 
when  they  are  well  off  and  happy. 


173 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

BLUE  HILL. 

THREE  years  from  the  day  Manson  led  Liddy 
to  the  carriage,  blinded  by  tears  and  heart  broken 
at  the  separation  in  store,  they  once  more  visited 
that  dearly  loved  spot.  It  was  a  place  more  sa 
cred  to  them  than  a  church,  for  it  had  been  hal 
lowed  by  the  tears  of  love  and  sanctified  by  the 
noblest  impulses  of  two  honest  and  true  hearts. 
It  was  far  removed  from  all  the  vain  pomp  and 
display  of  humanity  and  the  sordid  and  selfish 
influences  of  life.  .  To  Liddy  and  her  lover  it  was 
a  spot  that  appealed  to  all  that  was  holiest  and 
best  in  their  natures,  and  lifted  them  above  self 
ish  thought. 

"Can  you  realize  how  I  felt,"  Manson  said  on 
the  way,  "the  day  I  rode  in  silence  up  here  and 
then  told  you  I  had  enlisted  ?" 

"No,"  she  answered;  "no  more  than  you  can 
imagine  how  I  felt.  I  think  I  suffered  the  more, 
for  I  was  in  suspense  and  you  were  not.  That 
J74 


Blue  Hill. 

makes  me  think  of  a  question  I  have  long  wanted 
to  ask  you.  You  won't  mind  now,  will  you?" 
she  continued  with  a  smile  and  a  twinkle  in  her 
eyes.  "Why  did  you  tell  the  bad  news  first  and 
propose  afterward?  Why  didn't  you  pop  the 
question  first?" 

"I  thought  you  would  be  more  apt  to  say  'yes' 
if  I  put  it  the  way  I  did." 

"I  think  you  knew  it  wouldn't  be  'no,'  "  she 
said.  "I  knew  that  was  coming  weeks  before." 

"You  did,"  he  replied,  a  little  surprised.  "How 
did  you  know?" 

"Do  you  think  I  was  blind?"  she  answered 
archly.  "A  girl  usually  knows  when  that  ques 
tion  is  liable  to  come  for  months  beforehand,  and 
if  it  is  to  be  'no'  the  man  in  the  case  will  have 
hard  work  to  obtain  a  good  opportunity." 

WThen  they  were  seated  beside  the  rock  once 
more  she  said:  "Now,  sir,  three  years  ago  I 
told  you  we  must  feel  and  act  like  children  one 
day  up  here,  and  you  minded  me  very  well ;  but 
it  was  hard  work,  I  think.  It  was  for  me,  I  am 
sure." 

"It  will  be  easier  to-day,"  he  responded,  "for 
I've  only  one  thing  to  worry  about,  and  that  is 
the  proposition  your  father  made." 

She  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  in  her  eyes 
J75 


Pocket  Island. 

Tie  saw  a  little  of  the  same  humorous  twinkle  he 
had  at  one  time  noticed  in  her  father's  eyes,  and 
then  she  said : 

"Suppose  I  should  say  I  would  not  marry  you 
until  you  had  a  home  of  your  own  to  take  me  to ; 
how  would  that  seem?" 

"I  would  not  blame  you,"  he  answered  sober 
ly;  "only  you  would  have  to  see  clouds  on  my 
face  a  long  time,  I  fear." 

"Oh,  I  haven't  said  so  yet,"  she  continued  as 
she  saw  one  gathering  there  then,  "only  I  thought 
it  might  make  you  see  father's  proposition  in  a 
new  light.  Poor  father,"  she  went  on  musingly, 
"he  wants  to  make  us  both  happy,  and  he  doesn't 
know  how  to  bring  it  about." 

"Why  can't  he  accept  my  plan,  then?"  said 
Manson.  "I  am  ready  and  willing." 

"But  I  haven't  said  I  was,"  responded  Liddy. 
"I  am  not  sure  that  I  want  people  to  think  my 
husband  is  working  for  my  father  on  the  farm. 
Oh,  I  didn't  mean  it  that  way,"  as  she  saw  a 
frown  coming,  "only  I  have  some  pride  as  well 
as  you;  that  is  all.  Now,  Charlie,  please  don't 
say  another  word  about  it  to-day.  Remember,  we 
are  children !" 

Then  she  told  him  about  her  lone  visit  to  this 
spot  a  year  before,  and  how  it  affected  her. 

176 


Blue  Hill. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  explained,  "I  was  terribly 
scared,  and  I  imagined  I  heard  ghostly  footsteps 
all  around  here,  and  when  I  reached  home  I  was 
as  pale  as  a  ghost  myself." 

"It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,"  he  said,  "and  a 
silly  promise  for  me  to  exact." 

"I  should  have  kept  it  just  the  same,"  was  her 
answer,  "as  long  as  I  lived." 

At  noon  he  rebuilt  the  little  lattice  table,  and 
after  the  dainty  dinner  was  disposed  of,  they 
gathered  flowers,  picked  wintergreen,  wove 
wreaths  for  each  other's  hats  and  talked  silly 
nothings  for  hours,  and  enjoyed  it,  too,  as  lovers 
will.  Late  in  the  afternoon,  when  tired  of  this, 
he  arranged  the  carriage  robe  and  cushions  be 
side  the  rock  and  asked  her  to  sit  beside  him.  It 
was  a  preliminary  to  some  serious  utterance,  she 
felt,  for  he  at  once  remarked  : 

"Liddy,  I've  something  to  tell  you." 

She  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  while  a  smile 
crept  into  her  face,  and  then  said : 

"Now,  Charlie,  if  you  have  any  more  startling 
or  painful  things  to  tell  me,  don't  bring  me  up 
here  first,  or  I  shall  always  dread  to  come." 

"Was  my  confession  of  love,  made  here,  pain 
ful?"  he  remarked. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  answered,  "nor  startling,, 
J77 


Pocket  Island. 

•either,  for,  as  I  told  you,  I  knew  that  was  com 
ing.  But  the  other  part  of  it  nearly  broke  my 
heart.  You  must  have  thought  me  silly!" 

How  earnestly,  and  in  what  manner  he  assured 
her  she  did  not  act  silly  on  that  occasion,  but  was 
the  sweetest  and  dearest  girl  that  ever  lived,  need 
not  be  specified.  When  that  little  episode  was 
over  and  she  had  adjusted  her  hat,  she  said  : 

"Now  tell  me  your  story,  Charlie." 

"Well,"  he  replied,  "one  night  nearly  two  years 
ago  I  was  on  picket  duty,  and  I  made  the  ac 
quaintance  of  a  young  fellow  by  the  name  of 
Frank  Pullen,  who  belonged  to  a  Maine  regi 
ment.  We  kept  up  an  acquaintance  for  two. 
months  and  in  that  time  became  very  good 
friends.  We  were  in  much  the  same  state  of 
mind,  for  he,  too,  had  a  waiting  sweetheart  at 
home,  and  when  we  separated  we  each  promised 
to  write  to  the  other  if  we  lived  to  do  so.  His 
father  is  a  retired  sea  captain,  and  well-to-do,  and 
lives  in  a  little  out-of-the-way  place  in  Maine.  A 
month  ago  I  received  a  letter  from  Frank  and 
an  urgent  invitation  to  visit  him,  and  I've  prom 
ised  to  do  so." 

"That's  nice,"  said  Liddy  regretfully,  "to  be 
told  I  am  to  be  left  alone  all  summer !  The  next 


J78 


Blue  Hill. 

time  you  ask  me  up  here  I  shall  say:    'Tell  me 
the  bad  news  first !'  " 

"Liddy,"  he  replied  seriously,  "it's  not  for  a 
pleasure  trip  that  I  am  going.  He  knows  how  I 
am  situated  and  a  good  deal  about  my  hopes  and 
plans,  and  he  has  promised  to  help  me." 

She  was  silent,  for  this  opened  a  new  field  of 
conjecture  and  for  a  long  time  she  mused  upon  it, 
and  at  last  said: 

"I  do  not  see  how  his  assistance  will  help  mat 
ters  much,  do  you?" 

"No,  to  be  candid,"  he  replied,  "I  do  not  yetp 
still  it  may.  I  am  almost  sorry  I  promised  to  go,, 
but  my  friend  will  feel  hurt  now  if  I  don't.  I 
may  obtain  a  few  suggestions  that  will  help  me 
to  solve  this  problem." 

She  made  no  reply,  for  the  situation  seemed  as 
complex  to  her  as  to  her  suitor.  She  respected 
the  pride  that  had  made  him  refuse  her  father's 
generous  offer,  and  at  the  same  time  she  felt  her 
self  tortured  by  conflicting  emotions.  To  desert 
her  father  she  could  not,  and  to  deny  her  lover 
his  right  to  herself  as  a  wife  was  almost  as  im 
possible.  A  long  wait  seemed  the  only  solution, 
unless  he  would  accept  her  father's  offer. 

Perhaps  the  same  conclusions  were  reached  by 
Manson,  for  he  said  at  last :  "Do  not  blame  me 

179 


Pocket  Island. 

for  going  away  or  looking  about  to  find  some  way 
out  of  this  dilemma.  I  shall  never  find  one  here 
in  Southton.  The  worjd  is  wide,  and  I  do  not 
feel  it  half  so  hard  to  face  as  rebel  bullets.  There 
is  room  for  me  in  it,  and  a  chance  to  win  a  home 
for  you  and  me,  and  I  am  going  to  fight  for  that 
chance.  I  am  too  proud  to  accept  your  father's 
farm  as  a  gift,  and  you  are  too  proud  to  have 
me  work  for  him,  even  if  he  gave  me  all  the  farm 
produced.  Then  you  can't  leave  him,  and  I 
won't  ask  you  to  do  so.  The  only  way  is  to  wait 
and  work,  and  work  hard  for  the  girl  I  love,  and 
her  father  will  be  as  welcome  in  that  home  as 
she." 

He  paused,  and  a  look  of  admiration  for  his 
spirited  words  came  into  her  face. 

"Charlie,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "please 
don't  think  I  am  proud  or  stubborn.  I  can't 
leave  father,  but  I  will  wait  for  you  as  long  as 
you  wish  or  I  will  marry  you  when  you  wish, 
provided,  of  course,  you  give  me  time  to  get 
ready.  Only  do  not  feel  that  I  will  let  pride  sep 
arate  us  for  long.  Whatever  you  are  satisfied 
to  do  shall  be  my  law." 

Her  loving  assurance  cheered  him  greatly,  for 
he  answered  in  a  hopeful  voice: 


J80 


Blue  Hill. 

"Wait  patiently  until  I  return,  and  then  we 
will  decide  what  is  best  to  do." 

When  it  came  time  to  leave  their  trysting- 
place  he  drew  from  an  inside  pocket  a  small 
pocketbook,  worn  and  stained,  and  handed  it  to 
Liddy.  She  opened  it  and  found  a  bunch  of 
faded  violets  and  a  lock  of  golden  hair. 


18* 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE      MAINE      COAST. 

THERE  is  no  part  of  the  New  England  shores 
so  charming  as  the  coast  of  Maine.  From  Cape 
Elizabeth  on  the  west  to  Quoddy  Head  on  the 
east,  there  are  over  a  thousand  large  and  small 
islands,  nearly  all  of  which  are  of  bold  forma 
tion  and  most  of  them  wholly  or  in  part  covered 
with  a  growth  of  spruce  and  fir.  The  shores  of 
these  islands,  as  well  as  the  mainland,  are  mainly 
rock-ribbed,  with  many  high  cliffs,  at  the  foot 
of  which  the  ocean  surges  beat  unceasingly. 
Deep  fissures  and  sea  caverns  into  which  the 
green  water,  changed  to  yeasty  foam,  ever 
churns  and  rushes  by  day  and  night,  are  com 
mon  ;  and  when  storms  arise  it  bellows  and  roars 
like  an  angry  bull.  Here  the  clinging  rock- 
weeds  and  broad  kelpie  float  and  wave  idly  or 
are  lashed  in  anger  by  the  waves  that  seem  al 
ways  trying  to  tear  them  loose  from  the  rocks. 
J82 


•:y;; 

The  Maine  Coast. 

Locked  in  the  embrace  of  these  bold  shores  are 
countless  coves,  inlets  and  harbors,  many  so 
land-locked  that  never  a  ripple  disturbs  their 
surface,  and  here  the  fishhawk  and  seagull  seek 
their  food  and  build  their  nests  undisturbed  by 
man.  No  sound  except  the  unceasing  murmur 
of  the  winds  in  the  fir  trees,  or  the  low-voiced 
neighboring  ocean,  breaks  the  stillness.  Along 
the  rocky  shore  and  over  these  green-clad  cliffs 
one  may  wander  for  days  in  absolute  solitude, 
seeing  or  hearing  naught  of  humanity  or  the 
handiwork  of  man.  Here  may  be  found  the 
wondrous  magic  and  mystery  of  the  sea  in  all 
its  moods — pathetic,  peaceful  or  grand,  and  its 
society,  where  none  intrude.  Here,  too,  wedged 
among  the  wave-washed  rocks,  can  be  found 
many  a  tale  of  shipwreck,  despair  and  death,  or 
whispers  of  luxuriant  life  in  tropical  lands,  and 
all  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  ocean,  cast 
ashore  to  bleach  like  bones  in  a  desert,  year  in 
and  year  out. 

Safe  harbors  are  numerous,  though  not  easy 
of  access,  for  sunken  ledges  or  merciless  reefs 
guard  them  from  approach.  In  places  are  deep 
bays,  notably  Somes  Sound,  connected  with  the 
ocean  by  an  inlet  a  few  rods  wide.  Only  the 
accessible  harbors  have  been  utilized  by  man, 

183 


Pocket  Island. 

and  but  few  of  these  are,  even  to-day.  At  the 
head  of  one  of  these,  and  forming  the  only  safe 
harbor  of  the  Isle  au  Haut,  there  clustered  a  lit 
tle  fishing  hamlet  forty  years  ago,  the  largest 
house  of  which  was  one  occupied  by  Captain 
Obed  Pullen,  a  retired  sea  captain,  his  wife,  two 
sons — Frank  and  Obed,  Jr.,  and  one  daughter. 

The  house  was  a  white,  square,  two-story  one 
with  a  flat  roof  built  with  bulwarks  around  it, 
having  portholes  like  those  of  a  man-of-war. 
There  was  a  small  yard  in  front  surrounded  by 
a  board  fence,  and  on  a  knoll  just  back  of  the 
house  was  a  small  enclosure  containing  a  few 
white  -headstones.  Captain  Pullen,  having 
amassed  sufficient  of  this  world's  goods,  lived  in 
peaceful  seclusion,  far  removed  from  the  worldly 
strife  he  wished  to  avoid.  With  his  two  sons, 
he  tilled  a  few  acres  of  land.  He  fished  a  little 
as  a  pastime,  and  visited  the  mainland  but  sel 
dom.  He  was  a  blunt-spoken,  but  warm-hearted 
man,  with  shaggy  white  beard  and  hair,  and  a 
voice  and  handshake  as  hearty  as  a  gale  of  wind. 

To  this  abode  of  simple  cordiality  and  good 
will,  one  summer  day,  and  by  invitation  of  the 
old  captain's  son  Frank,  came  our  battle-scarred 
and  love-lorn  friend  Manson.  He  and  young 
Pullen  had  much  in  common,  for  both  loved  the 
J84 


The  Maine  Coast. 

sea,  and  their  friendship,  formed  when  both  were 
environed  by  the  dangers  of  war,  made  them 
now  the  most  affectionate  of  friends.  Manson 
found  himself  at  once  welcomed  by  the  entire 
family  as  a  valued  friend  and  one  whom  they 
all  seemed  proud  to  entertain. 

"We  don't  put  on  style  down  here,"  said  the 
old  captain  to  him  at  the  first  meal,  and  in  a 
voice  that  made  the  dishes  rattle,  "but  we're 
right  glad  to  see  ye,  and  we'll  give  ye  some  fun 
if  the  wind  holds  out.  Be  ye  fond  o'  fishin'?" 

As  fishing  was  a  mania  with  Manson,  and  as 
his  opportunities  had  been  limited  to  the  peace 
ful  seclusion  of  brooks,  or  the  calm  waters  of 
mill  ponds,  it  is  needless  to  say  that  he  admitted 
he  was  fond  of  that  sport. 

"Frank  tells  me,"  continued  the  captain  with 
blunt  directness,  "that  ye  have  got  a  sweetheart 
ye  left  to  come  here  visitin',  but  ye  best  quit 
thinkin'  'bout  her  if  ye  go  fishin'." 

Whether  our  young  friend  did  or  not  does  not 
matter ;  but  it  is  certain  that  the  days  which  fol 
lowed,  passed  amid  such  surroundings,  were  red 
letter  ones  in  his  history.  With  two  young  men 
of  about  his  own  age  for  companions,  a  trim  and 
staunch  fishing  sloop  with  cabin  and  cooking 
conveniences  ready  at  hand,  and  nothing  to  do 
JS5 


Pocket  Island. 

but  sail  and  fish,  or  explore  the  wild  shores  and 
fir-clad  islands  all  about,  was  like  a  new  world 
to  him.  One  day  it  was  a  fishing  trip  and  a 
chowder  party  composed  of  the  entire  fami1,  ; 
and  the  next  a  frolic  in  an  island  grove  where 
the  young  men  dug  clams  on  a  bit  of  sandy 
shore  and  afterward  steamed  them  among  the 
rocks.  Such  opportunities  were  new  to  him, 
and  with  kind  friends  near,  and  a  feeling  that 
he  was  thoroughly  welcome  in  their  home  added 
to  the  marvel  of  enchantment;  while  all  about, 
the  ever-present  sea  made  him  almost  forget  the 
vexing  problem  of  his  future. 

"It's  like  a  visit  to  a  fairy  land,"  he  said  one 
day  to  his  friend  Frank,  as  they  were  slowly 
drifting  past  a  low  green  island.  It  was  nearly 
sundown,  and  the  breeze  had  almost  died  away, 
so  that  the  sloop  barely  moved  through  the  un 
ruffled  waters  and  every  tree  and  rock  on  the 
near-by  shore  was  reflected  clear  and  distinct. 
"To  me,"  he  continued,  "it  is  an  entrance  into 
an  old-time  wonder  world,  and  to  sail  for  hours 
among  these  islands  or  in  sight  of  shores  where 
not  a  house  or  even  a  fish  hut  is  visible,  makes 
it  seem  as  if  we  were  explorers  first  visiting  a 
new  land.  When  we  pass  the  entrance  to  some 
deep  cove  I  half  expect  to  see  an  Indian  pad- 
J86 


The  Maine  Coast. 

dling  a  canoe  up  into  it,  or  spy  a  deer  watching 
us  out  of  a  thicket.  My  ideas  of  the  ocean  have 
been  obtained  where  islands  are  few,  and  pass 
ing  ships  or  houses  along  shore  are  always  vis 
ible.  Here  it  is  so  solitary.  We  seldom  see  a 
vessel  and  not  more  than  two  or  three  small 
craft  in  an  all  day's  cruise." 

"That's  the  best  of  it,"  explained  Frank,  "you 
have  it  all  to  yourself.  But  it's  different  in  win 
ter.  You  have  too  much  of  it  to  yourself  then. 
Altogether  too  much,  for  we  are  prisoners  on 
the  island  for  weeks  at  a  time,  and  that  grave 
yard  up  back  of  the  house  makes  it  seem  worse. 
I  wish  you  could  come  down  here  next  fall  and 
stay  all  winter.  We  don't  do  a  thing  but  eat 
and  sleep  or  go  ashore  once  a  month  for  papers, 
and" — laughing — "just  think  of  what  a  good 
chance  you  would  have  to  get  acquainted  with 
your  wife!" 

Manson  was  silent.  The  suggestion  opened  a 
vein  of  vexatious  thought  in  connection  with  his 
dilemma  that  was  not  pleasant. 

"Just  think  it  over,"  continued  Frank,  not  no 
ticing  his  silence;  "dad  and  mother  would  be 
ever  so  glad  to  have  you,  and  so  would  sis,  if 
your  sweetheart  ain't  stuck  up ;  is  she  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Manson,  "she's  just  a  sensible, 
J87 


Pocket  Island. 

everyday  sort  of  a  girl,  and  as  sweet  and  loving 
as  you  can  imagine.  Your  folks  would  like  her, 
I  think,  and  I  am  sure  she  would  like  them." 

"Why  didn't  you  splice  and  bring  her  along 
in  the  first  place?"  said  Frank,  laughing.  "I 
wish  you  had,  and  then  you  wouldn't  be  looking 
for  Injuns  in  every  cove.  Do  you  remember 
the  night  we  saw  a  man  walking  on  fog  and 
thought  it  was  a  ghost,  and  how  ten  minutes 
after  that  same  ghost  took  a  shot  at  us?" 

"I  do,"  answered  Manson,  looking  serious  as 
the  memory  of  that  experience  came  back,  "and 
I  recall  the  next  night,  too,  when  we  sat  by  the 
camp  fire  and  swapped  ghost  stories,  and  you 
told  me  about  a  haunted  island  down  here. 
Where  is  it?" 

"Do  you  see  that  little  patch  cf  gree  i  away 
out  beyond  Spoon  Island?"  answered  Frank, 
pointing  seaward.  "Well,  that's  the  famous 
Pocket  Island  that  I  told  you  about,  and  the 
abiding-place  of  not  only  a  bellowing  bull's 
ghost,  but  lots  of  others  as  well.  When  we  are 
likely  to  have  a  good  spell  of  weather  I  am  going 
to  take  you  out  there  and"  (with  a  laugh)  "give 
you  a  chance  to  satisfy  your  mania  for  ghost 
.hunting,  for  I  believe  that  is  one  of  your  hob 
bies." 

J88 


• 

The  Maine  Coast. 

"Well,  not  so  much  as  it  was  when  we  car 
ried  a  musket,"  said  Manson,  "for  I  am  not  as 
superstitious  as  I  was  then.  Still,  I  want  to  see 
your  haunted  island  just  the  same  and  hear  that 
strange  noise.  Is  there  a  harbor  there  where  we 
can  run  in?" 

"Yes,  and  a  queer  freak  of  nature  it  is,  too," 
answered  Frank,  "but  I  do  not  know  the  channel 
in,  and  would  not  dare  to  try  to  enter.  All  I 
can  do  is  to  wait  for  a  fair  day  and  lay  outside 
while  Obed  takes  you  ashore." 

That  night  when  Manson  had  retired  he  lay 
awake  a  long  time  thinking  over  the  interesting 
impressions  made  upon  him  by  his  visit,  and  es 
pecially  the  suggestion  that  he  at  some  time 
should  bring  Liddy  down  here  as  his  wife !  That 
alone  was  such  an  entrancing  thought  that  he 
could  not  go  to  sleep  when  he  tried  to.  What 
a  new  world  it  would  be  to  take  her  into,  and 
what  supreme  delight  to  show  her  these  beauti 
ful  islands  and  placid  coves,  and  the  bold  cliffs 
at  the  foot  of  which  the  white-crested  billows 
were  beating!  How  he  would  enjoy  seeing  her 
open  her  big,  blue  eyes  with  wonder  and  sweet 
surprise  at  all  the  grand  and  beautiful  bits  of 
scenery  and  all  the  magic  and  mystery  of  the 
ocean,  far  removed  from  man ! 

JS? 


Pocket  Island. 

"Some  day  I  will  bring  her  here,"  he  thought, 
and  then  he  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  he  heard 
the  ominous  sound  of  some  monster  bellowing 
in  anger. 


J90 


I 

Big  Spoon  Island. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

ETC  SPOON   ISLAND. 

THE  next  morning  our  young  friends  prepared 
for  a  th'ree  days'  trip  on  their  little  sloop.  For 
a  week  they  had  discussed  it  and  had  carefully 
considered  when  it  was  best  to  go. 

"I  want  to  wait  till  the  moon  fulls,"  Frank 
had  said,  "for  then  the  weather  will  be  better, 
and  as  our  friend)  Manson  is  in  a  romantic  frame 
of  mind,  he  will]  enjoy  it  all  the  more." 

Everything  lively  to  be  needed  was  put  on 
board  their  boat]j  provisions,  water,  extra  cloth 
ing,  guns,  fishing  gear,  and  also,  it  must  be  said, 
a  bottle  of  good  old  whiskey,  for  on  such  a  trip 
it  might  be  even  more  needful  than  food. 

"We  will  take  along  the  banjo,"  Obed  said, 
for  he  was  quite  an  expert  with  that  cheerful  in 
strument,  "and  evenings  we  can  have  some  dar 
key  songs." 

"What  is  the  program?"  asked  Manson,  when 
everything  was  stowed,  the  sails  set,  and  with 

191 


Pocket  Island. 

Frank  at  the  helm  they  were  gliding  out  of  the 
little  island  harbor.  "Where  are  we  going?" 

"Well,"  replied  Frank,  "I  think  we  will  run 
to  Big  Spoon  Island  first  and  try  for  mackerel. 
There  is  a  nice  little  harbor  there  if  it  comes  on 
to  blow,  and  two  miles  out  are  some  good  cod 
grounds.  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  visit 
Pocket  Island?" 

"I  would  like  to  just  call  there,"  said  Man- 
son,  "for  you  have  excited  my  curiosity.  I  have 
a  weakness  for  ghost  hunting,  you  told  me  once, 
and  now  you  must  gratify  it,  you  see." 

There  is,  perhaps,  no  pleasanter  way  for  three 
or  four  young  men  to  spend  a  day  or  two  than 
to  have  a  tidy  little  yacht  all  to  themselves,  and 
sail  her  away  off  among  the  Maine  coast  islands, 
with  a  summer  day  breeze  and  clear  skies  to 
cheer  them. 

To  feel  themselves  just  lifted  over  the  broad 
ground  swells,  ruffled  by  a  light  wind  that  smells 
sweet  and  crisp;  to  watch  some  distant  green 
island  gradually  coming  nearer,  or  the  seagulls 
lighting  on  the  water  just  ahead,  or  the  white 
clouds  in  the  blue  sky,  and  with  no  sense  of  dan 
ger,  but  only  the  care-free  buoyancy  of  youth 
and  good  spirits,  is  to  many  the  very  acme  of 
enjoyment.  At  least,  it  was  to  Manson,  to  whom 
J92 


Big  Spoon  Island. 

such  an  experience  was  entirely  new.  When 
they  reached  Spoon  Island  he  went  into  rap 
tures  over  it,  for  it  was  a  rarity,  even  among 
the  many  beautiful  ones  he  had  visited.  As  its 
name  implied,  it  was  shaped  like  a  spoon,  about 
five  hundreds  rods  long  and  formed  of  white 
sand,  with  a  growth  of  green  sedge  grass  al! 
over  it.  On  the  broadest  part  was  a  cluster  of 
spruce  forming  a  little  thicket  and  beside  this, 
and  entered  by  a  narrow  inlet  the  tiniest  bit  of 
a  harbor,  just  large  enough  to  shelter  a  small 
sloop.  The  seagulls  had  also  discovered  its 
beauty,  for  thousands  hovered  about  it,  and  the 
small  harbor  was  alive  with  them.  The  island 
was  a  favorite  nesting-place  for  them  as  well,, 
and  their  shrill  cries  at  being  disturbed  almost 
obliterated  the  voice  of  the  ocean. 

"We  will  anchor  under  the  lee,"  said  Frank, 
as  they  drew  near,  "and  try  for  mackerel,  and 
then  run  into  the  harbor,  make  everything  snug, 
and  stay  here  to-night,  or" — with  a  droll  look 
at  Manson — "perhaps  you  would  prefer  to  go  to 
Pocket  Island  and  have  ghosts  for  company!" 

"This  is  good  enough  for  me,"  replied  Man- 
son,  "and  I  guess  the  gulls  will  be  the  more  cheer 
ful  companions!" 

When  the  sloop  was  at  anchor,  sails  furled, 

J93 


Pocket  Island. 

and  they  were  all  waiting  for  mackerel  bites,  he 
said:  "What  is  there  so  mysterious  about  this 
Pocket  Island,  and  why  are  people  afraid  to  go 
there?  Tell  me  all  about  it!  You  have  got  me 
so  worked  up  over  it,  I  dreamed  I  heard  a  buii 
bellowing  last  night." 

"Well,"  replied  Frank,  "it's  like  all  ghost 
stories  and  spook  spots  in  the  world;  all  imagi 
nation,  I  guess.  I  do  not  take  any  stock  in 
them,  and  dad  laughs  at  the  entire  batch.  The 
only  reality  about  it  is  that  the  island  itself  is  the 
most  forbidding  pile  of  rock,  covered  with  the 
worst  tangle  of  scrub  spruce  you  ever  saw,  and 
the  shore  is  full  of  deep  fissures  and  cracks. 
The  one  mysterious  fact  is,  that  strange  bellow 
ing  noise  that  you  can't  locate  anywhere.  You 
may  clamber  all  over  the  island  and  all  around 
the  shores  and  it  seems  to  be  just  ahead  of  you, 
or  just  behind ;  so  far  as  the  stories  go,  well ; 
the  queer  harbor  inside  is  said  to  have  been  a 
smuggler's  hiding-place  years  ago,  and  there  are 
all  kinds  of  yarns  connected  with  the  island, 
from  bloody  murders  down  to  strange  sea  mon 
sters  seen  crawling  over  the  rocks.  It  has  a  bad 
name  and  is  seldom  visited;  for  one  reason,  I 
think,  because  it's  impossible  to  land  there  ex 
cept  in  a  small  boat,  and  then  only  when  the  sea 
J94 


v  'v- 

Big  Spoon  Island. 

is  smooth.  The  bellowing  noise,  I  believe,  is 
made  by  the  waves  entering  some  cavern  below 
high-water  mark.  There  is  also  an  odd  sort  of 
a  story  linked  with  it  about  a  little  Jew  who  was 
known  to  be  a  smuggler  and  who  played  a  sharp 
trick  on  a  few  people  ten  or  twelve  years  ago. 
I  do  not  think  he  had  any  connection  with  the 
island,  however,  although  some  say  he  had.  I 
fancy  it's  because  any  ghost-haunted  spot  always 
attracts  all  the  mysterious  stories  told  in  its' 
neighborhood." 

All  this  was  interesting  to  Manson,  and  not 
only  added  a  charm  to  all  the  islands  he  had  vis 
ited,  but  made  him  especially  anxious  to  explore 
this  one. 

"Do  not  laugh  at  me,"  he  said  when  Frank 
had  finished  his  recital,  "for  expecting  to  see 
Indians  paddling  canoes  among  your  islands 
when  your  people  down  here  believe  all  the  ghost 
stories  they  do.  My  fancy  is  only  the  shadow  of 
what  was  certainly  a  reality  not  so  very  long 
ago;  while  your  stories  are  spook  yarns  of  the 
most  hobgoblin  shape.  I  want  to  go  to  Pocket 
Island,  however,"  he  added  a  little  later,  re 
flectively,  "and  hear  that  mysterious  bellowing 
anyhow." 

That  evening  when  the  sloop  was  riding  quiet- 

J95 


Pocket  Island. 

ly  at  anchor  in  the  little  Spoon  Island  harbor  and 
the  full  moon  just  rising,  round  and  red,  out  of 
the  sea,  Obed  brought  his  banjo  on  deck  and 
away  out  there,  miles  from  any  other  island, 
and  mingling  with  the  murmur  of  the  ocean's 
voice  about  this  one,  there  came  the  strains  of 
old,  familiar  plantation  songs  sung  by  those 
three  young  friends,  at  peace  with  all  the  world 
and  happy  in  their  seclusion.  The  gulls  had 
gone  to  rest,  the  sea  almost  so,  for  the  ground 
swell  only  washed  the  island's  sandy  shore  and 
idly  rocked  the  sloop  as  she  rode  secure  at  an 
chor.  The  moon  and  the  man  in  it  both  smiled, 
and  when  Manson  and  Frank,  wearied  of  sing 
ing,  lived  over  once  more  the  battle  scenes  they 
had  passed  through,  feeling  that  never  again 
could  they  or  would  they  be  called  upon  to  face 
such  danger,  it  may  be  said  that  they  were  as 
near  contentment  as  often  comes  in  life.  And  if 
the  droll  look  of  the  man  in  the  moon  brought 
back  to  one  a  certain  night  years  before,  when, 
as  a  bashful  boy,  he  could  hardly  find  courage 
to  kiss  a  blue-eyed  girl  whom  he  had  walked 
home  with,  and  who  had  since  become  very  dear 
to  him,  it  is  not  surprising.  Neither  was  it  at 
all  strange,  if,  when  looking  seaward,  that  night, 
he  could  see  far  away  in  the  broadening  path  of 
196 


Big  Spoon  Island. 

silvery  sheen,  a  small,  dark  island;  that  he 
should  feel  it  held  a  mystery ;  and  that  some  oc 
cult  influence  had  linked  that  uncanny  place,  in 
some  way  not  as  yet  understood,  with  his  own 
past  and  future ;  that  it  was  some  link,  some  tan 
gible  spot,  some  queer  connection  between 
dreams  and  hopes  that  might  develop  into  real 
facts. 

While  not  what  is  usually  called  superstitious, 
Manson  could  not  understand  why  he  had  from 
the  very  first  mention  of  this  island,  felt  an  un 
accountable  influence  attracting  him  toward  it. 
What  it  was  he  could  not  tell,  and  yet  every  hour 
seemed  to  bind  this  influence  all  the  closer,  and 
as  it  were,  cast  its  spell  over  him.  When  they 
all  turned  in  for  the  night,  he  could  not  go  to 
sleep.  His  thoughts  would  go  back  to  that  Hor 
rible  night  on  the  battlefield  when  he,  in  his  ago 
nies,  fancied  himself  wading  down  a  cool,  clear 
brook;  then  to  the  strange  influence  Liddy  had 
said  she  felt  when,  in  keeping  a  foolish  promise, 
she  had  all  alone  paid  a  visit  to  Blue  Hill,  and 
now  this  weird  spell  of  enchantment  that  was 
growing  upon  him.  Was  there  some  mysterious 
plot  in  his  life  that  was  being  unfolded  step  by 
step,  and  one  that  was  far  beyond  his  compre 
hension?  Was  his  chance  meeting  with  this. 
J97 


Pocket  Island. 

friend,  Frank,  on  the  picket  line,  a  part  of  it? 
Was  the  imperative  inclination  to  always  take 
Liddy  away  to  the  top  of  Blue  Hill  when  he 
wished  to  speak  to  her  very  soul,  also  due  to 
some  incomprehensible  power  that  was  shaping 
and  bending  their  lives  together?  That  they 
were,  and  must  be  as  one  in  the  future — as  long 
as  life  lasted,  he  believed  as  firmly  as  he  be 
lieved  he  lived,  and  yet  beyond  that  belief  there 
was — and  here  he  met  an  impassable  barrier 
and  could  go  no  further,  only  realizing  that  he 
was  being  led  by  an  unseen  force.  Was  it  a 
power  that  was  pushing  him  toward  Pocket 
Island?  He  could  not  tell. 


198 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

POCKET   ISLAND. 

WHEN  the  sun  rose  red  and  sullen  the  next 
morning,  and  our  three  friends  had  breakfasted 
and  were  hoisting  sail  on  the  sloop,  Frank  said : 

"If  the  wind  holds  up  as  it  did  yesterday,  we 
can  run  to  Pocket  Island  and  back  easily.  There 
is  no  chance  to  land" — addressing  Manson — "or 
even  to  go  within  half  a  mile  of  it  in  the  sloop; 
but  I  can  lay  her  to  while  Obed  rows  ashore  in 
the  dory.  One  hour  there  will  give  you  all  the 
ghost  hunting  you  want,  I  guess.  The  only 
thing  I  don't  like  is  the  way  the  sun  looked  this 
morning.  Old  Sol  appeared  mad !" 

When  they  were  under  way  and  the  sloop  was 
heeling  over  before  the  fresh  morning  breeze, 
Manson  said :  "I  do  not  want  you  to  take  any 
chances  on  my  account,  Frank.  We  can  go 
there  some  other  day." 

"Oh,  I'll  take  no  risks,"  replied  his  friend. 
"It's  not  the  wind  that  worries  me,  for  we  can 

J99 


Pocket  Island. 

reef  close,  and  the  sloop  takes  big  seas  like  a 
duck.  It's  these  beastly  coast  fogs  that  come  in 
without  warning  and  absolutely  bury  you.  If 
the  wind  shifts,  then  your  compass  is  the  only 
salvation." 

Manson  was  silent,  for  he  was  only  a  passen 
ger,  and  as  his  friend's  guest,  he  felt  it  unwise 
to  offer  any  suggestion. 

"We  are  all  right,"  continued  Frank,  scan 
ning  the  horizon,  "so  long  as  the  wind  holds  this 
way,  for  we  can  beat  up  to  the  island  by  noon, 
and  have  a  fair  run  back." 

Manson  was  in  no  mood  for  talking,  for  the 
strange  strain  of  reflections  that  had  come  to 
him  the  night  before  still  oppressed  him  and  ne 
silently  watched  the  little  island  ahead  growing 
nearer.  When  they  were  within  a  mile  of  it,  the 
wind  began  to  drop  away  and  by  the  time  they 
could  see  the  many  rocks  that  surrounded  it,  ris 
ing  like  black  fangs  out  of  the  white  froth  of  the 
wave  wash,  it  died  out  entirely. 

Frank  looked  anxious.  "You  had  better." 
he  said,  addressing  Manson,  "eat  a  bite  while 
Obed  and  I  furl  the  jib  and  lower  the  tops'l. 
He  can  then  row  you  ashore  in  the  dory.  I  do 
not  like  the  way  the  wind  acts." 

When  Manson  started  for  the  island  in  the 
200 


Pocket  Island. 

small  boat  he  was  almost  ready  to  give  his  visit 
up,  for  the  little  look  of  anxiety  on  his  friend's 
face,  coupled  with  the  ugly-looking  reefs  be 
tween  which  Obed  was  rowing  him,  and  the 
forbidding  shores  of  the  island  itself,  made  a 
strange  feeling  of  fear  creep  over  him.  Beneath 
it,  however,  was  that  queer  influence  that,  like 
a  beckoning  spirit,  seemed  to  lure  him  forward- 
in  spite  of  himself. 

"I'll  land  you  on  the  lee  side,"  said  Dbed,  as 
he  pulled  into  a  narrow  opening  between  two- 
cliffs,  "and  wait  here  for  you  while  you  go 
across  to  the  harbor  on  the  other  side.  It  will 
save  time,  and  I  can  keep  an  eye  on  the  sloop." 

That  Obed  felt  it  necessary  to  watch  the 
sloop  was  not  reassuring  to  Manson,  but,  bid 
ding  him  good-bye  cheerfully,  he  leaped  ashore. 
When  he  had  made  his  way  up  over  the  confu 
sion  of  rocks  that  confronted  him,  and  out  of 
sight  of  the  dory,  he  stopped  and  listened.  It 
was  a  silent  and  desolate  spot,  but,  true  to  his 
expectations,  as  he  passed  there  he  caught  the 
sound  of  a  low,  moaning  bellow  that  rose  and 
fell,  almost  dying  away,  and  seemed  to  come 
from  the  farther  side  of  the  island.  He  looked 
and  listened,  and  then,  with  a  parting  glance  at 
the  sloop  half  a  mile  away,  started  over  the 
20J 


Pocket  Island. 

island.  He  soon  found  he  had  been  rightly 
informed,  for  its  surface  was  the  worst  tangle 
of  rocks  and  scrub  spruce  thick  between  them 
he  ever  saw  or  heard  of.  He  crawled  in  a  little 
way  and  then  retraced  his  steps  and  followed 
the  shore,  but  even  that  was  almost  impassable. 
He  worked  his  way  slowly  along,  until  all  at 
once,  when  he  had  climbed  a  ledge,  he  found 
himself  looking  down  into  what  seemed  like  a 
sunken  lake  surrounded  by  a  wall,  with  a  nar 
row  opening  on  the  seaward  side,  and  so  still 
that  not  a  ripple  disturbed  its  surface.  Cau 
tiously  he  crawled  down  to  the  edge  and 
glanced  about!  The  spot  seemed  to  fascinate 
him,  and  as  he  gazed  at  the  irregular  cliff  wall 
shutting  him  in,  he  felt  he  had  descended  into 
a  den  infested  by  evil  spirits ! 

Then  he  started  around  the  shore  of  this 
harbor,  avoiding  the  weed-covered  rocks,  for 
the  tide  was  low,  and  as  he  was  slowly  moving 
along,  he  came  suddenly  upon  a  keg  caught 
between  two  rocks,  and  just  above  high-water 
mark.  Its  staves  were  warped  and  gaping,  and 
when  he  stooped  to  lift  it  they  fell  apart  and 
disclosed  another  keg  inside.  This  he  found 
was  heavy,  and  as  he  stood  it  on  end  he  discov 
ered  it  was  filled  with  some  liquid.  For  a  mo- 
202 


Pocket  Istand. 

ment  he  was  dazed  by  the  discovery,  and  then 
he  turned  it  around  till  he  came  to  a  piece  of 
metal  midway  between  the  rusted  hoops,  and 
this  he  pried  off  with  his  knife  and  found  it 
covered  a  small  bung.  Trembling  with  excite 
ment  at  this  mysterious  find,  he  hunted  for  a 
pointed  stone,  and  with  it  drove  the  bung  in, 
when  to  his  intense  surprise  he  was  saluted  by 
the  well-known  odor  of  rum ! 

For  an  instant  his  heart  almost  stopped  beat 
ing,  as  there  flashed  through  his  mind  all  the 
vague  tales  of  this  island  having  been  a  smug 
gler's  hiding-place  long  before,  and  then  he 
looked  quickly  about  him.  Naught  was  visible 
save  the  frowning  rock  walls  and  the  still  cove. 
Then  he  stooped  again  and  inserted  a  finger  in 
the  keg  and  smelled  and  then  tasted!  Rum  it 
was,  and  no  mistake,  and  the  best  he  had  ever 
sipped !  But  what  a  find !  And  what  a  place 
to  find  it  in !  He  looked  about  him  again. 
Crusoe,  when  he  came  upon  the  footprints  in 
the  sand,  was  not  more  surprised  than  Manson 
at  this  moment. 

Unconscious  of  the  lapse  of  time,  or  where 
he  was,  or  how  he  came  there,  he  gazed  upon 
that  harmless  keg  as  if  it  held  some  ghastly  se 
cret  instead  of  rum!  Where  did  it  come  from? 
203 


Pocket  Island. 

Who  brought  it  there?  Why  had  it  been  con 
cealed  in  an  outer  shell?  What  did  it  all  mean, 
and  was  he  about  to  make  some  horrible  discov 
ery?  Once  more  he  looked  about,  and  then  in 
an  instant,  he  found  himself  staring  at  a  dark 
opening  beneath  an  overhanging  shelf  of  rock 
not  two  rods  away !  Breathless  with  excite 
ment  now,  and  feeling  himself  yielding  to  some 
dread  spell,  he  almost  sprang  to  the  spot,  and 
oblivious  of  weed-covered  rocks  and  mud,  he 
went  down  on  his  hands  and  knees  and  peered 
in.  It  was  a  cave  opening,  sure  enough! 
Trembling  still,  and  yet  lured  by  a  weird  fasci 
nation,  he  crawled  in  a  short  distance  and  then 
paused.  The  hole  looked  larger  inside,  and  as 
his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  gloom  he  could 
see  it  sloped  upward.  He  felt  for  a  match,  and 
lighting  it  tried  to  peer  further  in.  The  match 
burned  out  and  left  him  unable  to  see  as  far  as 
before.  Then  reason  began  to  assert  itself,  and 
he  turned  and  crawled  out,  realizing  the  folly  of 
trying  to  explore  a  cave  with  lighted  matches 
as  an  aid. 

When  once  more  he  stood  upright  outside  a 

strange  thing  had  happened.     Not  only  had  the 

tide  crept  up  almost  to  the  cave  entrance,  but 

the  sun  was  no  longer  visible,  and  as  he  looked 

204 


Pocket  Island. 

up  to  the  top  of  the  rock  wall  that  environed 
him,  a  white  pall  of  fog  was  slowly  settling 
down  and  hiding  all  things.  He  looked  at  his 
watch.  He  had  been  on  the  island  over  four 
hours!  With  sudden  fear  he  started  around 
the  way  he  had  come,  and  when  he  reached  the 
keg  of  rum  an  inspiration  almost,  made  him 
lift  and  carry  it  to  a  place  of  safety,  well  above 
high-tide  mark.  Then  he  retraced  his  steps  to 
where  he  had  left  Obed,  but  the  dory  had  gone 
and  no  one  was  there,  and  to  add  to  the  situa 
tion,  the  fog  had  so  shut  the  island  in  that  he 
could  not  see  two  rods  over  the  water.  He  hal 
looed  again  and  again,  but  received  no  answer. 
He  was  alone  on  Pocket  Island  with  not  a 
morsel  to  eat,  not  a  blanket  to  cover  him,  night 
coming  on,  and  a  fog  so  thick  that  he  could  not 
see  a  rod  ahead!  Even  all  this  did  not  for  one 
moment  obliterate  that  mysterious  keg  or  cave 
discovery  from  his  mind,  but  he  felt  that  he 
must  take  steps  at  once  to  protect  himself  from 
coming  night,  and  darkness,  and  possible  rain, 
for  he  knew  that  when  the  fog  lifted,  his  friends 
would  return.  The  first  thing  was  to  build 
himself  a  shelter,  and  then  a  fire.  Here  his 
army  experience  came  in  well,  and  he  searched 
until  he  found  two  rocks  with  a  level  space  be- 
205 


Pocket  Island. 

tween,  and  laying  sticks  across  and  cutting 
spruce  boughs  to  pile  over  them  and  others  to 
serve  as  a  bed,  he  soon  made  ready  a  place  to 
at  least  crawl  into  when  night  came. 

Hunger  began  to  assert  itself,  but  food  was 
out  of  the  question.  That  keg  of  rum  came  to 
his  mind  as  he  worked,  however,  and  when  the 
rude  shelter  was  complete  he  searched  ohe  rocky 
shores  for  some  large  shell,  or  anything  that 
would  hold  a  small  portion  of  the  liquor.  He 
found  a  cocoanut  that  the  sea  had  kindly  cast 
up  among  the  rocks,  and  cutting  one  end  off 
with  his  pocket-knife,  and  digging  out  the  inte 
rior,  he  once  more  returned  where  he  had  left 
the  mysterious  keg. 

Twilight  was  near  and  the  dark  cave  en 
trance  and  frowning  walls  about  the  little  har 
bor  seemed  more  ominous  than  ever.  He  made 
haste  to  fill  his  rude  cup  with  rum  and  return 
to  his  shelter.  Then  he  gathered  fuel,  for  fire 
at  least  would  be  a  little  company,  and  a 
strange  dread  of  spending  the  coming  night 
alone  there  on  that  haunted  island  was  creep 
ing  over  him.  He  did  not  believe  in  ghosts, 
but  when  he  thought  of  the  peculiar  sequence 
of  events,  mingled  with  a  slowly  growing  be 
lief  that  some  mysterious  power  was  leading 
206 


Pocket  Island. 

him — he  knew  not  whither — a  feeling  that  he 
was  soon  to  face  some  ghastly  experience,  came 
like  an  icy  hand  grasping  his  in  the  dark.  He 
could  not  shake  that  feeling  off,  and  as  he  gath 
ered  driftwood,  bits  of  dead  spruce — anything 
that  would  burn,  and  piled  the  fuel  near  his 
shelter — his  dread  increased.  What  strange 
spell  was  it  that  had  kept  him  four  hours  be 
side  that  wall-enclosed  harbor  unconscious  of 
the  lapse  of  time?  Why  had  he  not  seen  the 
fog  coming  until  too  late?  And  that  keg  and 
cave! — what  did  all  these  mysteries  mean? 
Then,  searching  further  along  the  shore  for 
driftwood,  he  came  suddenly  upon  a  tangle  of 
wreckage  piled  high  among  the  rocks.  It  would 
serve  as  fuel,  and  he  began  to  drag  large  pieces 
to  his  shelter.  Three  trips  he  made,  and  was 
just  lifting  the  end  of  a  broken  spar,  when  right 
at  his  feet,  and  half-buried  in  the  sand,  he  saw  a 
white  object.  The  night  was  fast  approaching 
and  he  was  in  a  hurry,  but  some  impulse  made 
him  stoop,  and  there  in  the  gathering  gloom  he 
saw — a  grinning  human  skull! 


207 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
THE  SMUGGLER'S  CAVE. 

MANSON  had  faced  death  on  the  battlefield 
when  comrades  were  falling  beside  him ;  he  had 
paced  for  hours  on  the  picket-line  in  the  dark 
ness  of  night,  feeling  that  at  any  moment  an 
enemy  might  fire  at  him  from  some  thicket  or 
from  behind  some  tree  or  rock;  but  amid  all 
these  dangers  he  had  not  felt  the  nameless  hor 
ror  that  came  to  him  as  he  saw  that  hideous 
skull  grinning  at  him  there  in  the  tangle  of 
wreckage  just  at  dusk  on  Pocket  Island.  It 
was  like  a  hand  reaching  out  from  a  grave,  or 
a  voice  calling  to  him  from  a  tomb.  Alone  on 
that  little,  sea-grit  isle,  trembling  beneath  the 
waves  that  beat  upon  it,  and  in  the  fast-gather 
ing  darkness  he  stood  for  a  moment  spell 
bound.  All  the  ghostly  tales  he  had  been  told 
of  this  spot  came  to  him  in  an  instant  and  with 
the  force  of  truth,  and  had  he  at  that  moment 
beheld  some  spectral  figure  rise  from  among 
the  black  rocks  he  would  not  have  been  sur- 

208 


The  Smuggler's  Cave. 

prised.  Then  feeling  his  strength  leaving 
him,  he  turned  and  ran  as  fast  as  he  could  back 
to  where  he  had  built  the  shelter.  With  trem 
bling  hands  he  managed  to  start  a  fire  and  sat 
down  beside  it.  It  was  a  little  comfort,  but  not 
enough  to  drive  away  the  dread  that  seemed  to 
increase  as  the  night  grew  blacker.  He  dared 
not  use  his  small  stock  of  fuel  except  sparingly, 
fearing  it  would  not  last  till  morning,  and  he 
should  be  left  in  total  darkness.  Back  of  him 
was  the  impassable  thicket,  and  in  front  the 
rock-bound  shore,  and  as  he  listened  to  the 
booming  of  the  surges  he  could  see,  just  in  the 
edge  of  the  zone  of  light,  those  eyeless  sockets 
and  that  mocking  grin  ever  hovering  near. 
Then  as  the  night  wore  on  and  the  wind  in 
creased,  slowly  rising  and  falling  and  rising 
again,  each  time  a  little  louder,  came  that  omi 
nous,  bellowing  sound.  It  was  not  like  that  of 
any  creature  he  had  ever  heard  or  dreamed  of, 
but  rather  the  menace  of  some  horrible  monster 
unknown  to  earth  or  air.  All  the  stories  of  hid 
eous  shapes  that  dwelt  beneath  the  ocean  waves, 
and  all  the  old  legends  of  the  sea  and  its  un 
known  denizens,  came  to  him,  and  ever  mingling 
with  these  phantasms  that  seemed  to  be  crawl 
ing  all  about  was  that  grinning  skull. 
209 


Pocket  Island. 

Solitude  and  night  on  a  lonely  shore,  far  re 
moved  from  human  kind,  inevitably  produces 
in  the  mind  strange  effects.  All  ordinary  rea 
soning  is  set  at  naught  and  common  sense  goes 
astray.  The  nearness  of  the  unknown  and  un 
approachable  ocean;  the  ever  varying  and  men 
acing  sounds  that  issue  from  it;  the  leaping  and 
curling  billows  that,  like  white  and  black  de 
mons,  seem  trying  to  engulf  the  earth  and  make 
even  the  rocks  tremble — all  have  a  weird  and 
uncanny  influence.  In  their  presence  the  im 
agination  runs  riot  and  the  ghostly  and  super 
natural  usurp  reason.  Spectral  shapes  crawl 
out  of  dark  fissures  and  leap  from  rock  to  rock 
and  hideous  sea  monsters  creep  in  the  verge  of 
shadows.  To  be  alone  on  a  small  island  of 
evil  repute  and  many  miles  out  in  the  ocean,  as 
Manson  was,  was  to  have  this  weird  influence 
more  than  doubled.  At  times,  when  reason 
seemed  trembling  in  the  balance,  he  fancied 
himself  hovering  over  the  battlefield  where  he 
had  lain  for  hours  suffering  indescribable 
agony ;  and  looking  at  the  ghastly  faces  of  dead 
men  in  the  moonlight!  He  could  see  their 
white  teeth  showing  in  mocking  grin  and  their 
glazed  eyes  staring  at  him!  Here  and  there 
were  parts  of  bodies:  a  head  in  one  place,  an 
2(0 


The  Smuggler's  Cave. 

arm  and  hand  in  another!  Then  he  could  see 
himself  sitting  upon  the  ground  amid  thick 
bushes,  and  resting  in  his  lap  was  a  boy's  face, 
the  eyes  looking  up  into  his  in  piteous  appeal  f 
How  well  he  could  recall  every  moment  of  that 
half-hour  of  dumb  anguish  and  the  last  fight  for 
life  that  dying  boy  had  made!  He  could  see 
the  blood  gush  from  his  lips  at  every  breath 
drawn  in  desperate  effort,  and  feel  the  tight 
clasp  of  his  hands  and  oh!  the  awful  dread  of 
coming  death  in  his  eyes!  Then  the  last 
earthly  effort  when  the  poor  boy  had,  in  grati 
tude  at  sight  of  a  pitying  face,  kissed  the  hand 
that  killed  him! 

To  Mason's  keen  imagination  it  seemed  as 
if  Fate  had  led  him  to  this  horrible  spot  to  go 
mad  and  die  alone,  tortured  by  remorse  and 
despair. 

As  he  sat  by  his  one  companion,  the  little 
fire,  all  that  long  night,  trying  to  fight  back  the 
imaginary  horrors  that  menaced  him,  one  con 
stant  thought  weighed  heaviest  upon  his  feel 
ings,  and  that  was  that  some  uncomprehended 
motive  force  was  shaping  his  every  action  and 
asserting  itself  more  and  more.  What  evil  was 
in  store  for  him,  or  what  fate  was  to  come,  was 
a  greater  burden  than  all  the  rest.  How  long 


Pocket  Island. 

that  night  was  no  pen  can  describe,  and  when 
the  first  faint  tinge  of  morning  light  came,  he 
felt  that  nothing  in  life  was  quite  so  blessed  as 
•daylight.  The  fog  was  still  thick,  but  the  hid 
eous  darkness,  with  all  its  terrors,  was  passed,  and 
with  the  light  came  a  bit  of  returning  courage. 
He  had  sipped  from  the  cup  of  rum  at  times 
through  the  night,  but  had  felt  no  effect,  and 
now  he  was  faint  from  need  of  food.  He  hunted 
the  shore,  where  clams  could  be  found,  and  se 
curing  a  few  roasted  and  ate  them.  Then  once 
more  came  the  uncanny  fascination  of  that 
cave!  He  dreaded  to  go  near  it,  and  yet  could 
not  keep  away.  It  was  like  a  voice  calling  to 
him  that  must  be  answered.  But  how  to  enter 
without  a  light!  Once  more  he  thought  of  that 
keg,  and  going  to  the  pile  of  wreckage,  found 
pieces  of  rope,  and  moistening  one  end  of  a  bit 
in  the  rum  that  was  left  in  his  cup,  set  it  on 
fire.  It  burned  slowly  but  steadily,  and  now 
he  felt  he  had  means  to  enter  the  cave.  With 
a  few  pieces  of  this  rope  he  made  his  way  down 
to  where  the  keg  was,  and  soaked  them  well  in 
the  rum.  Then  he  paused  and  looked  around. 
The  frowning  walls  seemed  more  menacing 
than  ever,  and  that  black  hole  just  beyond, 
which  he  had  tried  to  enter  the  day  before, 
2J2 


The  Smuggler's  Cave. 

glared  at  his  like  a  huge  eye  of  sinister  import. 
He  thought  of  the  ghastly  skull  he  had  found 
the  night  before,  and  wondered  if  it  had  any 
connection  with  this  cave.  Cautiously,  step  by 
step,  he  crept  toward  it.  Was  it  the  hiding- 
place  of  some  sea  monster,  and  was  death  there 
in  that  dark  cavern  awaiting  him?  Once  again 
he  felt  his  courage  leaving  and  a  strange  weak 
ness  stealing  his  strength.  He  turned  back  and 
sat  down  by  the  keg. 

Given  the  right  conditions,  and  our  imagina 
tions  will  surround  us  with  hobgoblins  and  spec 
tres  by  day  as  well  as  night,  and  almost  upset 
the  reasoning  power  of  strong  men.  To  Man- 
son,  who  had  passed  one  long,  sleepless  night 
full  of  imaginary  terrors,  and  believing  himself 
governed  and  controlled  by  some  supernatural 
power,  the  experience  he  had  passed  through,  and 
the  impulses  that  were  now  alternately  pulling 
him  back  and  pushing  him  toward  that  dark  cave 
in  front  of  him,  he  felt  must  be  ill-omened  and  un 
canny.  For  an  hour  he  sat  and  looked  at  his  sur 
roundings,  trying  to  reason  away  his  fears  and 
convince  himself  they  were  groundless,  and  that 
all  the  stories  he  had  heard  about  this  island  being 
haunted  were  purely  imaginary.  Only  partially 
did  he  succeed,  however,  and  then,  at  last  yielding; 
2J3 


Pocket  Island 

to  the  fascination  that  constantly  drew  him  to 
ward  the  cave,  arose  and  once  more  cautiously 
crept  toward  it. 

At  the  entrance  he  paused  and  listened.  Not 
a  sound  could  be  heard  except  the  faint  voice 
of  the  ocean  outside.  He  stooped  and  took  one 
step  inward,  and  listened  again.  All  he  could 
hear  now  was  the  beating  of  his  own  heart. 
He  lit  one  of  his  torches  and  then  another.  Then 
he  took  two  steps  more  and  paused  again.  The 
faint  light  showed  the  cavern  sloped  sharply  up 
ward.  Carefully,  on  his  knees,  supporting  him 
self  by  one  hand,  he  crawled  up  the  incline  until 
the  floor  became  level  and  then  he  stood  upright. 
For  a  moment  he  halted  there,  trying  to  peer  into 
the  inky  darkness.  He  seemed  to  be  looking  into 
a  wide,  open  space;  a  peculiar  odor  tainted  the 
air.  He  took  a  few  steps  and  paused  again.  Then 
he  turned  one  of  his  torches  down  inward  to  in 
crease  the  flame,  and  as  it  burned  brighter  he  held 
it  above  his  head.  Now  he  could  see  the  wall  of 
rock  all  about,  and  on  the  further  side  and  close 
to  the  wall,  a  large  boulder.  Then,  as  his  eyes 
grew  accustomed  to  the  semi-darkness,  he  could 
see  the  floor  formation,  and  as  its  outlines  grew 
tnore  distinct,  he  caught  the  gleam  of  white  teeth 


214 


The  Smuggler's  Cave. 

grinning  at  him  from  some  creature  almost  at 
his  feet]  Breathless  now,  and  trembling,  he  low 
ered  his  torch,  and  beheld  prostrate  there  in  front 
of  him  two  shriveled  and  blackened  corpses! 


2*5 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  FATE  OF  A  MISER. 

As  Manson  gazed  in  horror  at  those  two  charred 
bodies  reduced  to  skeletons  in  that  dark  cave,  he 
felt  more  than  ever  that  his  every  step  for  many 
days  had  been  in  obedience  to  some  mysterious 
power  that  had  at  last  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  danger  and  death. 

For  one  instant  the  impulse  to  turn  from  that 
ghastly  sight  and  leave  the  cave  came  to  him, 
but  the  baleful  fascination  of  those  hideous  ob 
jects  held  him  prisoner.  He  could  not  if  he 
would  turn  away.  One  of  the  skeletons,  for 
such  they  almost  were,  was  that  of  a  tall  man, 
face  up,  the  grinning  teeth  fully  exposed ;  the 
other  of  smaller  size,  with  legs  and  arms  drawn 
together.  No  signs  of  clothing  were  visible  on 
either,  and  the  flesh  appeared  to  have  shrunk 
away,  showing  the  shape  of  every  bone.  Mid 
way  between  them  lay  a  rusted  pistol  and  just 
beyond,  glistening  in  the  faint  light,  were  bits 
2J6 


The  Fate  of  a  Miser. 

of  glass.  When  his  eyes  grew  accustomed  to 
the  sickening  sight  he  raised  them,  looked 
around,  and  for  the  first  time  saw,  a  few  feet 
away,  a  raised,  table-like  rock,  and  on  it  piles  of 
round  dark  bits  of  metal.  Taking  two  steps  he 
stooped,  and  picking  up  one  of  these  pieces  held 
it  close  to  the  light.  It  was  a  twenty-dollar  gold 
piece ! 

Wonder  succeeded  horror!  What  mystery 
was  this?  Two  charred  skeletons  beside  a  pile 
of  gold  in  this  dark  and  silent  cavern!  Was  it 
some  infernal  dream  or  a  reality?  He  stooped 
and  picked  up  more  of  the  coins.  Gold,  every 
one!  Then  he  examined  others  and  found  sil 
ver  dollars  and  halves.  He  turned  and  looked 
about,  holding  one  torch  above  his  head,  and 
almost  expecting  to  see  some  spectral  form  half- 
hid  in  the  shadows.  Only  the  faintly  outlined 
walls  of  rock  could  be  seen.  Then,  feeling  faint 
and  weak  from  the  intense  strain,  he  hastily 
retraced  his  steps  down  and  out  of  the  cave. 
He  was  just  in  time,  for  the  rising  tide  had 
almost  cut  off  his  exit.  So  weak  now  that  he 
could  hardly  walk,  he  crept  around  to  the  keg 
and  sat  down  to  think.  Then  for  the  first  time 
he  looked  at  the  sky  and  saw  the  sun  faintly 
visible  through  the  fog.  What  a  blessed  sight 
2J7 


Pocket  Island. 

it  was!  He  had  never  known  before  how  good 
the  sun  could  look  to  a  poor,  hungry,  horror- 
struck  mortal!  Then  he  picked  up  a  shell,  and 
pouring  a  little  of  the  rum  out  of  the  keg,  drank 
it.  It  had  a  magic  effect,  for  it  brought  back  his 
strength  and  courage  and  a  realization  of  what 
he  had  discovered.  In  the  dread  experiences  he 
had  just  passed  through,  he  had  not  compre 
hended  what  it  meant  to  him.  Now  he  did. 

He,  alone  on  that  haunted  island,  abhorred 
and  shunned  by  all,  had  found  a  fortune! 

He  drank  a  little  more  of  the  rum.  Then  he 
thought  of  his  friends.  Maybe  at  that  very 
moment  they  were  nearing  the  island ! 

He  quickly  clambered  out  of  the  walled-in 
pocket,  and  looked  over  the  ocean.  The  fog 
was  lifting,  the  wind  rising,  but  no  sail  was 
visible.  He  was  still  a  prisoner.  Once  more 
he  heard  that  strange  bellowing  coming  from 
somewhere  beneath  the  island,  but  it  had  lost  its 
terrors.  He  thought  of  those  skeletons  in  the 
dark  cavern,  and  only  felt  curious  to  know 
how  those  two  human  beings  met  their  death. 
A  thousand  bulls,  for  aught  he  cared  now, 
might  bellow  all  they  chose,  so  long  as  they  did 
not  show  their  horns  above  the  rocks,  and  two  or 
•two  dozen  skeletons  more  or  less  in  the  cave 
2J8 


The  Fate  of  a  Miser. 

made  no  difference.  He  had  met  and  conquered 
the  ghost  of  Pocket  Island,  and  was  himself 
once  more. 

He  took  one  long  look  all  around,  where  the 
white,  crested  waves  were  rolling  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  reach;  then  at  the  sun  now  shining 
bright  and  warm,  and  then  returned  to  the  cave. 
The  entrance  was  half  under  water,  but  the  tide 
was  falling,  and  he  boldly  waded  in.  He  was 
so  eager  now  he  could  hardly  wait  to  light  a 
torch,  and  when  once  more  inside,  he  did  not 
even  stop  to  look  at  the  hideous  skeletons,  but 
went  directly  to  the  flat  rock  where  the  stacks 
of  coin  were;  removed  his  coat,  heaped  all  he 
could  carry  upon  it,  and  returned  to  the  sun 
light.  Wildly  excited  now,  he  carried  his  bun 
dle  to  a  flat  shelf  of  rock  near  where  he  had  first 
descended  into  "The  Pocket,"  emptied  it  and 
returned  for  more.  Three  trips  he  made  to  se 
cure  his  wondrous  find,  and  when  the  last  mil 
dewed  and  tarnished  bit  of  money  was  secured, 
he  took  the  pistol  and  left  the  cave  for  good. 
Then,  feeling  a  little  faint  and  weak,  he  sat 
down  on  the  shelf  beside  his  pile  of  gold  and 
silver,  and  examined  the  rusty  weapon. 

On  the  stock  was  engraved  the  name  of 
"Wolf." 

219 


Pocket  Island. 

Then,  as  that  miser  had  many  years  before 
stacked  and  counted  those  same  pieces  of  money, 
so  did  Manson  now  stack  and  count  them. 

But  what  a  contrast! 

Wolf  had  counted  with  murder  in  his  heart, 
and  feeling  only  the  miser's  lust  of  possession 
as  he  hid  himself  in  that  dark  cavern.  Manson 
counted,  thinking  only  of  one  good  and  true  girl 
waiting  for  him,  and  feeling  that  every  one  of 
those  bits  of  money  were  but  so  many  keys  to 
open  the  door  of  his  dream  of  wife  and  home 
and  all  the  blessings  he  longed  to  surround  that 
one  loved  woman  with.  And  as  he  counted 
where  God's  sunlight  fell  upon  him,  and  not  in 
darkness,  fearing  enemies,  so  was  that  money 
destined  to  be  a  blessing  and  not  a  curse.  When 
the  count  was  made,  and  that  poor,  hungry  fel 
low,  with  naught  to  aid  him  in  the  battle  of  life 
except  two  hands  and  a  brave  heart,  found  him 
self  the  possessor  of  sixteen  thousand  dollars,  he 
felt  like  offering  a  prayer  of  thankfulness. 

He  no  longer  cared  that  he  was  faint  with 
hunger,  or  that  he  was  still  a  prisoner  on  that 
lone  island.  All  he  thought  of  was  to  await  the 
coming  of  his  friends  with  patience;  end  his 
visit  as  soon  as  possible;  return  to  Liddy,  and 
tell  her  of  his  wondrous  find,  and  the  fortune 
220 


The  Fate  of  a  Miser. 

that  was  theirs  to  enjoy.  But  he  was  not  to 
escape  that  day,  for  the  wind  still  blew  almost 
a  gale,  and  the  waves  still  cut  him  off  from 
rescue.  When  the  tide  fell  he  dug  clams,  and 
when  night  came  he  sat  by  his  little  fire,  roasted 
and  ate  them,  and  was  happy.  That  night  he 
saw  no  spectral  shapes  or  grinning  skulls,  and 
when  his  fire  burned  low  he  crept  into  his  shel 
ter  and  slept  in  peace  and  content.  When  the 
morning  came  only  a  summer-day  breeze  ruffled 
the  ocean,  and,  most  gladsome  sight  of  all,  only 
a  few  miles  away  was  the  sloop,  with  all  sails 
set,  and  heading  directly  for  the  island!  When 
Frank  came  ashore  in  the  dory  there  was  a  joy 
ful  meeting. 

"We  had  to  put  up  sail  and  run  for  a  harbor 
to  save  the  sloop  when  we  saw  the  fog  com 
ing,"  said  Frank,  "and  leave  you  behind.  It 
was  that  or  desert  her  and  come  ashore.  I  am 
awfully  glad  to  find  you  safe,  though.  Obed 
waited  as  long  as  he  dared.  Where  were  you, 
and  what  were  you  doing  so  long?" 

"Trying  to  find  a  ghost,"  replied  Manson, 
who  felt  like  joking  now,  "and  I  succeeded. 
I  not  only  found  ghosts  by  the  dozen,  but  two 
skeletons,  and  one  or  two  skulls  scattered 
around  to  make  things  more  cheerful.  Oh,  I've 
22J 


Pocket  Island. 

had  a  real  sociable  time,  I  assure  you!  One  of 
those  kind  of  times  when  every  way  you  turn 
a  still  more  hideous  object  confronts  you;  a  fit 
of  the  jims  minus  the  fun  that  goes  before  it. 
The  first  night  I  was  so  scared  I  didn't  sleep  a 
wink,  and  the  spooks  were  so  thick  I  dared  not 
turn  around  for  fear  of  seeing  a  new  one.  Your 
island  deserves  all  that  has  been  said  of  it,  and 
a  good  deal  more.  I've  found  what's  better 
than  ghosts,  however!" 

When  Frank  had  followed  his  friend  over 
into  "The  Pocket,"  and  saw  what  he  had  found 
and  heard  the  marvelous  story,  he  gasped  for 
breath. 

"So  that  is  what  became  of  the  little  Jew 
smuggler,  is  it?"  he  said  when  he  saw  the  pis 
tol;  "and  the  story  was  true  after  all!  My 
stars !  but  you  are  in  luck,"  he  continued,  as  he 
looked  at  the  stacks  of  coin;  and  then,  slapping 
Manson  on  the  back,  hilariously  exclaimed: 
"Ghost  hunting  pays  once  in  a  while,  old  fel 
low,  don't  it?  Now  you  can  get  married  and 
come  down  here  and  stay  all  next  summer,  can't 
you?" 

Then  the  two  friends,  happy  as  children  es 
caped  from  school,  returned  to  the  sloop,  and 
after  half-starved  Manson  had  eaten  as  he  never 
222 


The  Fate  of  a  Miser. 

did  before,  they  all  three  went  ashore  and  visited 
the  cave. 

"As  near  as  I  can  recall  the  story,"  said 
Frank,  when  they  stood  looking  at  the  skele 
tons,  "there  was  an  Indian  who  acted  as  helper 
for  the  Jew,  and  this  tall  fellow  with  the  horri 
ble  grin  may  have  been  that  poor  fellow.  Most 
likely  they  got  into  a  quarrel  over  the  money, 
and  fought  it  out  to  the  death.  Great  Scott! 
but  what  a  grim  duel  that  must  have  been  here 
in  this  dark  cavern!" 

sWhen  they  had  looked  the  cave  all  over,  they 
carried  Manson's  strangely  found  fortune  aboard 
the  sloop,  and  sailed  for  home.  Two  days  later 
he  bade  adieu  to  his  friend  and  departed  tw» 
weeks  sooner  than  he  had  planned,  but  not  until 
he  had  made  a  solemn  promise  to  return  the  next 
summer  and  bring  a  companion. 


223 


Pocket  Island. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

CONCLUSION. 

THE  maples  in  front  of  Liddy's  home  were 
just  showing  the  first  tints  of  autumn  color  when 
Manson  returned.  It  had  been  a  long  three  weeks 
of  separation  to  her,  and  her  first  words  contained 
a  note  of  reproach. 

"You  might  have  written  me  once  or  twice, 
Charlie,"  she  said;  "the  days  have  seemed  so 
long!" 

"I  could  not,"  he  replied;  "I  was  lost  to  the 
world  on  an  island  twenty  miles  from  a  post 
office,  and  letters  were  not  in  style  there.  The 
people  are  so  far  removed  from  the  world  they 
do  not  seem  to  think  communication  of  any 
value.  It  is  a  wild  and  romantic  spot,  and  the 
only  thing  I  do  not  like  about  it  is  every  house 
has  two  or  three  tombstones  close  by." 

He  seemed  in  a  surprisingly  cheerful  mood, 
and  described  his  visit  and  the  friends  he  had 
met  in  glowing  words.  One  incident  of  his 
224 


Conclusion. 

visit,  however,  he  withheld,  and  for  a  purpose. 
The  little,  half- jesting  remark  Liddy  had  made 
a  month  previous  on  Blue  Hill — a  remark 
merely  expressive  of  her  pride — still  lingered 
in  his  mind,  and  he  was  resolved  to  test  that  pride 
in  his  own  peculiar  way. 

A  short  distance  from  her  house  and  near  the 
brook  was  a  rustic  seat  beneath  the  maple.  Many 
hours  she  had  passed  there  with  him,  and  many 
more  alone  with  only  sad  thoughts  for  company, 
when  the  brook's  music  seemed  a  voice  of  sym 
pathy.  Even  when  a  child  she  had  learned  to 
love  this  spot,  and  the  low,  sweet  murmur  of  the 
stream.  Early  that  evening,  when  the  full  moon 
had  just  appeared  over  Blue  Hill,  they  intui 
tively  sought  this  familiar  place.  Perhaps  the 
joy  in  their  hearts  added  a  new  charm,  for  the 
ripples  in  the  brook  appeared  like  so  many  laugh 
ing  water  sprites  dancing  there  in  the  silvery 
light.  For  a  few  moments  they  silently  yielded 
to  the  magic  witchery  of  the  time  and  place,  and 
then  she  could  contain  herself  no  longer.  She 
had  noticed  his  unusual  elation — even  more  than 
could  be  ascribed  to  his  gladness  at  being  once 
more  beside  her,  and,  grown  accustomed  to  his 
ways,  knew  there  was  a  surprise  in  store. 

"Well,  Charlie,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a 
225 


Pocket  Island. 

bright  smile,  "you  need  not  wait  to  take  me  up 
to  Blue  Hill  this  time  to  tell  your  story.  Tell 
it  now.  You  have  some  good  news,  for  I  can 
see  it  in  your  face.  What  is  it?" 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  silence,  and 
then  answered: 

"Yes,  I  have  a  story  to  tell  you,  and  one  that 
will  more  than  surprise  you,  but  first  I  have 
a  question  to  ask.  Do  you  remember  the  prom 
ise  you  made  me  a  month  ago?" 

The  thought  of  that  tender  pledge  and  his 
now  evident  intention  to  ask  its  fulfillment 
brought  the  color  to  her  face,  but  she  bravely 
answered:  "I  have  never  made  a  promise  and 
failed  to  keep  it.  I  shall  not  begin  now." 

Then,  as  the  question  he  asked  and  the  an 
swer  he  received  were  heard  only  by  the  elfin 
sprites  dancing  in  the  brook  beside  them,  so  we 
will  leave  it  to  those  fairies  to  tell  if  they 
choose.  Suffice  it  to  say  it  was  such  as  filled  his 
heart  so  full  of  happiness  it  could  no  longer 
hold  a  secret,  and  there,  where  the  moonlight 
fell  in  little  rifts  upon  them,  and  the  music  of 
running  water  echoed  their  feelings,  he  told  her 
the  strange  story  of  Pocket  Island,  and  what  he 
had  found  in  the  cave. 

When  late  that  evening  they  returned  to  the 
226 


Conclusion. 

house,  never  again  in  their  lives  did  the  man 
in  the  moon  seem  to  smile  so  graciously  or  the 
brook  sound  so  sweet. 

Then  one  day — a  day  bright  above  all  others 
to  them,  when  nature  seemed  aglow  with  joy 
ous  color — all  those  who  were  near  and  dear 
gathered  to  listen  to  their  vows,  and  wish  them 
well  in  life.  Whether  those  kind  wishes  were 
deserved  or  not,  and  whether  the  Fates  that 
direct  the  steps  of  all  human  kind  led  theirs 
along  the  pleasant  walks  of  prosperity  and  hap 
piness,  or  among  the  rocks  and  thorns  of  adver 
sity,  we  will  leave  to  the  imagination  of  those 
who  have  read  this  story,  for  here  their  history 
ends. 

It  is  told  that  when  Jove,  the  mythological 
ruler  of  the  universe,  conceived  the  creation  of 
the  human  race,  he  sent  Pandora  to  the  realms 
of  Pluto  to  bring  him  the  box  containing  all 
the  good  and  evil  impulses  he  intended  to  select 
from  in  his  creative  work.  He  gave  her  strict 
orders  not  to  open  the  box,  lest  its  contents  es 
cape  and  work  woe  to  the  coming  mortals.  But 
as  woman's  curiosity  never  was  restrained  by 
any  power,  human  or  divine,  since  Mother  Eve 
ate  apples,  and  most  likely  never  will  be,  no 
sooner  had  Pandora  set  out  upon  her  return 
2T 


Pocket  Island. 

than  she  lifted  the  lid  of  that  fatal  box,  and  the 
result  to  the  human  race  need  not  be  enlarged 
upon.  One  good  result  came  from  her  disobe 
dience,  however,  for,  seeing  her  error  in  time, 
she  closed  the  cover  before  Hope  escaped,  and 
so  that  blessed  impulse  came  to  be  shared  alike 
by  mortals. 

Life  at  best  is  but  an  enigma,  and  like  chil 
dren  pursuing  an  Ignis  Fatuus,  so  do  we  all  pur 
sue  the  illusive  beacon  light  of  a  brighter  and 
happier  to-morrow — always  hoping,  never  at 
taining,  though  striving  ever  until,  wearied  of 
the  vain  pursuit,  at  last  we  fall  by  the  wayside 
and  are  forgotten. 


THE  END. 


22* 


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